


Finally

by onthighsbelongtotaemin



Category: SHINee
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Coming of Age, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-16
Updated: 2016-09-16
Packaged: 2018-08-15 09:24:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 26,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8050927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onthighsbelongtotaemin/pseuds/onthighsbelongtotaemin
Summary: seven years after they last spoke, taemin goes to visit his brother to tell him about the life he's led without him, the man he fell in love with, & how he's missed him all this time.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> cross-posted to shinee big bang on live journal.

~Yesterday~  
  
The room is silent, a soft breeze flowing through from the fan twirling overhead. The sun is setting, its rays through the blinds casting odd shadows on the walls and floor that Taemin watches from his perch on the sofa. It’s still hot, though it’s cooling swiftly, and Taemin’s head is resting on Jinki’s shoulder, his arms wrapped around Jinki’s waist and he feels safe. Jinki is reading a book on his tablet, a novel that Taemin has forgotten the name of, but that Jinki has been engrossed in for the last week. The gentle swipe of his thumb over the screen is the only movement he makes, his spare arm thrown over the back of the couch behind Taemin’s head.  
  
They’ve been in this position for a while, about an hour he would guess. It was a busy day; a farmer’s market, a film, and lunch. The rush of the crowds has left him feeling overwhelmed and he needs to feel Jinki for a little bit longer.  
  
When he’s relaxed enough he leans up and nuzzles Jinki’s neck, softly kissing the tender skin. Wordlessly, Jinki lays the tablet on the table beside him and turns to look down at Taemin. In this moment it is just the two of them, together, and Taemin feels at home. He leans up to kiss Jinki and hums softly when their lips meet. It is tender and it is chaste and he pulls back to smile up at Jinki once again.  
  
This time he smiles that mischievous smile that Jinki loves so much and Jinki raises an eyebrow at him, lets him take the lead. Taemin wiggles his eyebrows suggestively and laughs as Jinki swiftly rises up, pulling Taemin with him, lifting him off the ground. Taemin’s legs swiftly wrap themselves around Jinki’s waist as the other man hugs him close. They kiss again, Jinki’s face cradled in Taemin’s hands. A soft kiss whose intensity rapidly grows desperate, ending only when Taemin leans back, nibbling at Jinki’s bottom lip.  
  
“I love the things you do with your tongue”, Jinki whispers, a quirky look to his gaze. And as much as Taemin enjoys the sensation of Jinki’s lips on his he has more pressing needs, and by the look in his eye he suspects Jinki feels the same way.  
  
He leans in and whispers, “I love the things you let me do with my tongue”, squeaking in surprise as Jinki adjusts his grip around Taemin’s waist. They laugh as Jinki takes them to the bedroom, Taemin still in his arms, their travels hindered by hungry kisses. He turns around in the doorway, taking the last few steps backward to fall onto the bed, still unmade from the morning, Taemin muttering a soft “oof!” as he falls on top of Jinki, legs tucked awkwardly beneath his body.  
  
He scooches his feet out, his knees on either side of Jinki’s waist and leans down to kiss him again, languidly, pressing the intensity of before down. He’s still clear-headed enough to want to take his time, enjoy the moment, and he knows that if he teases Jinki long enough Jinki will give him what he wants.  
  
And it happens, fast. He grins as Jinki sits up, fingers threaded through Taemin’s hair. He keeps his hair on the longer side just for these moments, just long enough for Jinki to run his fingers through, to shield his eyes. His head is pulled back, his exposed neck now leveled with Jinki’s eyes and he feels a shiver ripple through his entire body from the burn in his scalp as Jinki pulls tight. Yes, finally, yes. Jinki leans forward and bites at the pulse point on Taemin’s neck, the vein prominent beneath the stretched skin and Taemin gasps, the bite brief but deep, not quite enough to leave a mark and covered quickly with a kiss.  
  
It is a trick, the gentle pressure after the sting meant to dilute the discomfort. It is a trick Taemin doesn’t need, but the ebb and flow of pain and pleasure is a sensation he enjoys nonetheless. His shirt is slipped over his head, and Jinki moves from his neck to his shoulders to his chest; the spikes causing his breath to hitch and his hips to begin grinding in Jinki’s lap.  
  
The last action earns him a slap on the ass from Jinki’s open hand and a terse “Wait your turn”. Taemin stills and sighs and lets Jinki continue his ministrations, one hand still in his hair and the other now cupping his ass as he grows hard. Taemin’s breaths deepen as he works to keep his body still and not react to what Jinki is doing with his hands and teeth. It is excruciating and he knows that Jinki knows that it is taking everything in Taemin’s willpower to maintain this pose. And, as always, just as he’s about to break, Jinki moves back up and gives Taemin a gentle kiss to his cheek, caressing his hair gently, matting down the mess he has made in the strands.  
  
“Now”, he murmurs into Taemin’s ear, leaning back on his elbows and smiling smugly at Taemin who watches him move. Taemin licks his lips, a habit he knows he has because Jinki has told him so but one that he is never aware of when he does it. He leans forward, hooking his fingers through the waistband of Jinki’s sweatpants and pulling them down slowly, Jinki raising his hips to help. He slides them down muscled legs, over pale feet, and tosses them to the floor beside him. His favorite part comes next, when he pulls Jinki’s shirt over his head and the lean muscle underneath is exposed. Jinki is now completely naked and Taemin knows what he needs to do, what he wants to do.  
  
He licks his lips again and climbs back onto the bed, between Jinki’s legs spread open in invitation, his cock already half-hard and resting to the side. He doesn’t see the look of amusement on Jinki’s face, doesn’t see the glint in his eye as he leans down, his lips already parted as he takes Jinki’s dick in hand and licks a long stripe from the base to the tip, blowing gently on the moisture he leaves behind.  
  
Jinki sighs and mutters something Taemin doesn’t hear as he continues his attentions, his tongue laving up and down the swollen flesh followed by a cool exhalation, a combination that causes Jinki to grow hard in his hand and against his tongue. He takes the head into his mouth and listens with delight as Jinki sucks a breath in through his teeth. He has practiced and practiced but Jinki is too thick for him to take in all the way so he uses his fingers to reach what his lips can’t, wrapping them around the base and smearing the saliva and precum with one hand, his empty hand gripping Jinki’s bare thigh. He absorbs the echoes of the moans escaping Jinki’s lips, the dull thud as his head falls back against the headboard, and the steady cacophony of sounds Taemin’s mouth is making. Far too soon he feels Jinki’s fingers back in his soft strands and his head is jerked back, Jinki leaning forward and wrapping his arm tight around Taemin’s waist, forcing him to look down from where his head leans back in Jinki’s hand.  
  
“Do you want something Taemin?” Taemin nods as much as Jinki’s grip will allow, his lips dark and shiny, his pupils blown and eyes heavy.  
  
“What do you want?” Jinki’s voice is so gentle, so quiet. Taemin finds it mesmerizing when he does this, when he takes control. His mind goes blank and everything he does breaks down to one instinct: please Jinki. And he knows it pleases Jinki to make Taemin beg and wait; he frequently does both, patiently and obediently. But he also knows that it pleases Jinki to please Taemin. This is one of the moments where Jinki will give him anything and everything he wants. Even those things that make Jinki nervous, the ones he’s still unsure of, the ones whose accoutrements sit quietly in a metal case on Taemin’s side of the closet, too large to fit under their bed. Taemin doesn’t want those tonight. Tonight he just wants Jinki. He takes a few deep breaths, knowing what that does to Jinki and knowing that he is going to need them soon.  
  
They speak in code, their own language, and Taemin whispers what he wants, the words only Jinki will understand. Jinki lets go of his hair again and smooths his palm over the mussed strands. He keeps their bodies locked tight as he rolls them over, his body now on top of Taemin’s. Taemin loves this, he needs this, the pressure of Jinki on top of him, tangible and hot, sweaty and safe.  
  
It’s Jinki’s turn to undress Taemin, kissing his thighs and knees as he pulls his ripped jeans off. He stretches over Taemin’s naked body to rummage through the drawer of the table beside their bed. There’s lubricant in there and he pulls it out, pouring some out into Taemin’s outstretched hand before tossing it back. He grits his teeth and takes a sharp breath as the lube warmed by Taemin’s hands is smoothly applied. He kisses him as he pushes in, inhaling the gasp Taemin lets out as he relaxes his muscles and adjusts to the stretch, his body familiar with Jinki’s girth.  
  
The rhythm is slow at first, Jinki rocking them back and forth in tandem, Taemin’s legs resting on either side. His fingers play with Jinki’s hair as they nip at and suck on each other’s lips, Taemin groaning when Jinki bites down a little harder than necessary. Jinki begins increasing the tempo, his strokes deeper and quicker. Taemin wraps his legs around Jinki’s waist, adjusting his position and bringing Jinki even closer to himself, his arms wrapped around Jinki’s neck.  
  
He can feel the muscles in Jinki’s body contract as he moves inside of Taemin, can feel the texture of his dick inside his body, his own cock caught between them. The heat created between their bodies is making them sweaty, making their movements smoother. Their room resonates with furtive grunts and guttural moans, muted thumps as Jinki’s hips pin Taemin to the mattress again and again, the sound of naked skin pressing against bare flesh. Taemin’s mouth hangs open as he gasps for air, his breath coming in ragged drags, and he feels lightheaded from all the stimulation. He whispers Jinki’s name, affirmations, and the occasional profanity. His voice is ragged and pitched and he suddenly feels hollow as Jinki pulls away from him, sliding out completely.  
  
He whimpers as he’s pulled down to the edge of the bed, his hips placed just above the edge. Jinki slips back in and starts up again, his pace steady and strong, hands braced on either side of Taemin’s shuddering body. He presses his hands to Jinki’s chest, staring into his eyes and it’s not long before he feels his already heated body begin to warm from the slight shift in angle. The one Jinki knows he likes, the one he didn’t even have to ask for, his legs spread wide and hanging over the edge, his feet bouncing in the air.  
  
As he feels his climax build he grabs at Jinki’s bicep with one hand and reaches up to grab Jinki by the neck with the other, pulling him down into a bruising, sloppy kiss. Jinki pulls away, pressing their damp foreheads together before leaning back, looking down at Taemin with dark eyes.  
  
“I want you to look at me Taemin. I want to watch.” Taemin nods, desperate, willing to do anything and everything Jinki asks of him. His lips are caught again, sucked into Jinki’s mouth, and then kisses are peppered along his jaw. Taemin’s head drops back, his back arched, body rocking in rhythm with Jinki’s thrusts and his dick now in Jinki’s hand. His breathing grows deeper, ragged, his ability to catch his breath slipping away as he comes, his nerves on fire and every molecule in his body vibrating with sensation.  
  
He is still gasping, still slipping back into reality when he hears the shift in Jinki’s breath, the rising tone of his groans, and he watches silently as Jinki’s mouth drops open and his eyes scrunch up, head flung back as he climaxes, filling Taemin’s body with heat. He loves that feeling, loves that Jinki leaves a piece of himself every time they have sex, that he leaves his marks both outside and inside Taemin’s body. He smiles his blissful post-coital smile up at Jinki who has an equally loopy grin on his face. Jinki pulls out of Taemin and falls gently to his side, stretching his arm out and Taemin nuzzles in, kissing his rib as he moves up to rest his head on Jinki’s arm, one leg tossed over Jinki’s as they lay sprawled over the mess of sheets; sweaty, sticky, and sated.  
  
  
~Today~  
“How’s it going back there?”, Jinki’s voice calls from down the hall. Taemin can hear him shuffling around in the kitchen, cabinets opening and the muffled thud of ingredients, bowls, measuring cups, and spoons being dropped onto the counter. He’s making banana pancakes and an awful lot of noise; it’s making it difficult for Taemin to concentrate on the print-out in his hand. He forgets to respond, muttering to himself as he compares the list in his hand with the open suitcase before him, perched at the end of the bed. He touches each item as he reads it off the list, scratching the name off with a pen he keeps in his mouth.  
  
The old black leather toiletry kit is pulled out again, the contents compared to the items on the list. His toothbrush is cute, one that is highlighted by two colors, green and yellow, and which folds in half making it easy to tuck away for travel. It sits in a plastic bag to keep it as sanitized as possible, the thought of naked bristles rubbing against the fabric of the kit making Taemin slightly nauseous. There is also a travel sized toothpaste, plastic box with a bar of soap, small bottle of shampoo, pill box with enough medication to last him a few days, and a comb. There’s no razor because he doesn’t have enough vacation days to warrant one.  
  
Looking at all the tiny bottles and boxes makes Taemin feel like a giant. He throws his arms over his head, paper still in hand, and declares himself ruler of this tiny town. It is in this stance that Jinki finds him. He stands in the doorway bemused, watching silently as Taemin continues to threaten to wreak havoc on the tiny inhabitants of the imaginary town if they do not concede to his authority. While still blustering on, demanding complete obedience of his will, he turns just enough to catch Jinki’s figure out of the corner of his eye and he jerks violently, the paper in his hand flying through the air and fluttering to the ground like freshly fallen snow.  
  
He snatches the page up, his eyes wide and his face flushed. Tentatively he asks, “How long have you been there?”  
  
“Long enough to know that you would be a tyrannical leader.” Taemin flashes him an impish grin.  
  
“We can’t all be benevolent overlords.”  
Jinki slaps him on the butt, leans in and whispers, “You know you like it.” Taemin’s smile deepens as he turns back to his packing.  
It was Gwiboon who had made the list and sent it to Taemin, along with a note that he could thank her for the favor by coming to her next play. A musical, an original, with a few of the tracks penned by her on-again off-again girlfriend Junghee who currently fell into the on-again category. He always enjoys Gwiboon’s plays, they are typically quite good, and the songs Junghee had previously written were very nice. A little sappy and slow for Taemin’s taste, but they reflected Junghee’s personality well; thoughtful and intense, tending to be about either unrequited love or passionate love depending on where on the spectrum she was in her relationship with Gwiboon.  
  
She had it bad for Taemin’s friend and Taemin suspected Gwiboon knew just how bad and kept running away because she felt it too. To be fair, she had been quite upfront about her discomfort with monogamy and had always dated multiple people at once. But Junghee was different. Not in a way that would force Gwiboon to change a fundamental part of her personal identity, but in a way that softened her edges a little. She made Gwiboon blush and giggly, actions she was not commonly known for. She was nicer and calmer when they were together, two traits that probably itched her to her core, and Taemin hoped that she didn’t end up losing Junghee.  
  
He had known Gwiboon since they were children, had grown up together, and attended the same schools. She was two grades above his, and they’d become friends in middle school when her abrasive personality abruptly made her a social pariah. His timid nature had left him one of the few people the more popular girls couldn’t bully into silence; he wouldn’t speak to her on his own but he wouldn’t stop her if she decided to speak with him. It was an odd pairing, though comfortable. She spoke a lot and he listened, never quite sure when or how to respond, stumbling over his words more than once and not producing the reaction she’d been anticipating. More often than not, however, they got along, a gentle, teasing friendship that he was grateful to have.  
  
The intrigue of seeing how her current interactions with Junghee were playing out was slightly outweighed by Taemin’s aversion to crowds, the noise and the heat from strangers’ bodies creating an anxiety that was difficult to quell. He needed something to do with his hands and he had been instructed that cell phones and hand jobs were inappropriate in such a venue. He had stuck the note on the refrigerator beneath the pineapple magnet, the one with jiggly eyes that makes Jinki smile, mildly hoping that something would come up to keep him from having to endure sitting still for hours in a rush of strangers.  
  
Jinki has returned to the kitchen and Taemin joins him, watching as he ladles batter onto a bubbling griddle, and slipping his hands around his waist.  
  
“I’m going to miss you.”  
  
Jinki chuckles, his eyes on the batter as it grows to an absurd size: He is serious about his pancakes.  
  
“It’s only for the night. I’ll join you tomorrow morning. You won’t even notice that I’m not there.”  
  
Taemin stills. The only sound is the sizzle of the pan as the pancake cooks.  
  
“I don’t like waking up without you.”, he whispers softly. Jinki gently takes Taemin’s hands from around his waist and turns from the stove.  
  
“I know. But I’ll call you, you’ll wake up to my face even if I’m not there. It’s just this once.” He pulls Taemin close and kisses him on the forehead. Taemin needs this, this pressure from Jinki’s body, this tangible connection to the present so he won’t remember the past and become sad, won’t think about the future and lose himself to his own anxieties. He needs to take this trip; he needs to see his brother. It’s been years and it’s time. They eat their pancakes at the kitchen table, Taemin’s hand fluttering back and forth between a tight fist to the side of his plate and resting on Jinki’s leg. In reciprocity, Jinki plays with Taemin’s foot, bouncing it on his own and gently rubbing his toes up Taemin’s naked legs causing Taemin to jerk and shiver at the sensation.  
  
After the scrapes of their knives and forks against the plates quiets down Jinki goes to take a shower, leaving Taemin in charge of the clean-up. He rinses the dishes and loads them into the dishwasher, scrubbing the griddle by hand. He nearly starts the machine when he remembers that Jinki is still in the shower and instead sets a timer for twenty minutes, the shrill one that he hates but will be certain to hear, time enough he thinks for Jinki to finish bathing. Studying the suitcase still lying open on the bed he runs through the list one last time, his fifth, to confirm that he has everything on it and to distract himself from his own apprehensions.  
  
He smiles softly at the sight of the little box of snacks Jinki has put together for him, little treats to keep him from getting too hungry and being forced to stop in unfamiliar places while on the road, a shy shrug of his shoulders and a “It makes me feel helpful” when he was caught. He had teased him about it, had slipped his arms around Jinki’s neck and murmured “My domestic god”, receiving a slap on the ass and a kiss that flirted between chaste and obscene and an edict to “get packing” in response.  
  
Once certain that everything on his list is now packed in his suitcase he zips it up and tugs it off the bed, rolling it noisily down the hall and propping it up next to the door, the place he is most likely to remember to grab it from when he leaves.  
  
If Jinki were coming with him it would have been a simple two-day, two-night trip. Jinki would have driven while Taemin slept, hiding from his nerves, and he would have arrived refreshed and ready for his visit with Minho. But he wants to do this himself, to prove that he can, so he will be traveling alone today. Besides, Jinki needs to go into the office this afternoon work on a project that is near completion, one that he hopes they will be able to finish today. He’s taken the next three days off so that he can join Taemin, visit his mom, and drive them back home. He’ll take the train tomorrow morning to the nearest city where Taemin will pick him up. It will be nearly an hour round-trip drive by the roads Taemin will take, the fields of tumbleweeds and bridges over the rushing river a beautiful but slow route.  
  
Like the trip he’ll take this afternoon.  
  
He’s nervous but it is an all-encompassing-no-specific-reason nervous, and he’s pressing it down by focusing on his excitement to return to his hometown, the place where he grew up and where he and Jinki had met. It is a small town that has grown from a rural community into a suburb, absorbed into a nearby town that is still too small to be called a city. He hasn’t been to visit in years, not since they moved across the state for a job offer he eagerly encouraged Jinki to accept.  
  
Jinki emerges from the bedroom dressed in jeans and a “Star Wars” T-shirt, his clothes casual for the weekend. The timer dings violently in the kitchen, startling them both.  
  
“What was that for?”  
  
It takes Taemin a moment to remember, the action completely forgotten while he had been packing.  
  
“I didn’t want to start the dishwasher while you were still in the shower,” he says as he heads down the hall into the kitchen and shuts the door of the machine all the way, the soft click a prelude to the whir of the appliance as it begins its cycle. It hums gently in the background as Taemin leans against the counter, arms wrapped around his waist as a sudden wave of anxiety and nausea overtakes him making his vision blurry and his breaths short. Seeing the sudden shift, Jinki walks over and pulls him into his arms, the smell of his soap soft and his body warm, one hand stroking Taemin’s hair and the other placed firmly against his back. He holds him quietly, giving Taemin a chance to relax and catch his breath.  
  
“Hey, it’s going to be fine.” Jinki can’t know that but Taemin still nods into his shoulder, turning his head to rest it against his firm chest. He takes a few deep breaths and closes his eyes.  
  
“What are you scared of?” It’s a question that Jinki often asks, one meant to help him focus, one never asked with the condescension his parents had when they had asked him the same as a child. If Taemin cannot think of an answer, one that Jinki cannot help him rationalize, then he trusts that it is his mind playing tricks.  
  
“I’m nervous about driving by myself, about spending the night away from you.”  
  
“Is that everything?” Taemin pauses to think.  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“What about seeing Minho?” He smiles.  
  
“I’m not nervous about seeing Minho.” He sighs a little, the sadness threatening to creep in. “I miss him,” he whispers softly. Jinki nods, his hand still stroking Taemin’s hair gently and he leans into the touch.  
  
“Are you more nervous about the drive or excited about seeing Minho?” Taemin has had this conversation before, had already answered these questions but he had forgotten his answers and he finds the repetition comforting.  
  
“Excited.”  
  
“Then take that, focus on that. You can do it, you got this.”  
  
Taemin breathes deeply and pushes gently away from Jinki. “Thanks.”  
  
“Always.”  
  
Taemin smiles and leans in to give Jinki a kiss, soft and languid, breathing each other’s air, the taste of the other on their lips. Taemin’s hands card through Jinki’s hair, Jinki’s hands at his waist; their final farewell.  
  
Twenty minutes later, with bruised lips and a satiated smile, Taemin finds himself waving one last time at Jinki who stands at the head of their driveway watching him leave. The pack of snacks and his leather satchel ride in the seat next to him, his suitcase in the trunk. His phone is plugged into the dashboard, a playlist he put together for the drive loaded and playing softly in the background: he’ll turn it up once he’s on the road. He swallows down the rising panic and resists the urge to turn back into the driveway, to scratch the planned trip in favor of the familiarity of home. The thought of not seeing Minho, however, is overwhelming, the sadness threatening to overtake him. He knows he will feel better for having visited, that these impulses are not ones he wants to act on.  
  
It is a long drive and an odd one, the scenery changing dramatically as he leaves the city from lush evergreens and majestic mountains to farmland and flat terrain that expand for miles with no end in sight. He spends the first few hours passing through only the smallest towns, blips on the map, places lucky to have a library and where the grocery store is locally owned. He decides to stop in one, decides to take a chance.  
  
Having caught his eye, he pulls into the driveway of a diner with an enormous giraffe attached to the roof. He steps out of the car, surprised by the warmth of the day, and takes a picture with his phone, sending it to Jinki who he knows will get a laugh out of the sight. When he enters the restaurant he finds it cool yet cozy, a break from the summer heat. To his disappointment it is not themed. Though he wants to ask about the statue outside, he cannot work up the courage to do more than order his food and thank the waitress as she fills his cup with ice water. When she brings his meal, and asks if there’s anything more he needs, “Ketchup? Mustard?”, he says no and thanks her, watching as she leaves, knowing she’ll return. She does, multiple times. He wishes she would stop turning her attention to him but he understands it is her job and he repeats the words he knows will keep their exchanges short.  
  
“Everything’s great. Thank you.” She smiles and moves on and he breathes a sigh of relief.  
  
He checks his phone a few times while he eats, surprised at how tasty his food is, not expecting Jinki to text back but still hoping for a message anyway. He texts Gwiboon too, the one friend who is sure to answer his message, attached constantly to her phone, sending her the photo of the restaurant. She texts him back a poop emoji and warns him about the source of meat in small town diners. He laughs just as his phone vibrates again with a second message, a quick “how r u doin?” It’s a question that he finds both comforting and yet slightly irritating because he had just managed to calm his nerves, focusing on his food and on his phone a sufficient distraction. He types out a quick “ok” with a smiley face and sets his phone back on the table.  
  
The next few hours go by quickly, the only tension to the rest of his trip comes when he is momentarily blinded by the setting sun, his sunglasses and sun shade not strong enough to protect his eyes from the thing itself. The trip could have been much faster, nearly half as long in fact, he would have arrived hours ago if he had taken the freeway. He prefers to take the backroads, the rural highways that take him through the small towns.  
  
Some of them are clean and pretty, manicured lawns and historical markers hung throughout their main street. Some have stands on the side of the road covered by striped awnings with hand-painted signs advertising local produce. A few are sad to travel through; dilapidated houses and dirt yards, areas that have seen better days though not for a very long time. They’re real, familiar, and in some ways remind him of his hometown. Their roads are slow and interesting, a striking contrast to the freeway he detests, littered with signs notifying motorists of the available hotels, restaurants, and gas stations at each exit, the speed and passing cars making him dizzy.  
  
It is dark when he arrives, and still warm. He’s used to the cooler climate of the coast, the area’s moderate temperature maintained by a high elevation and an influx of cold air blown in from the various bodies of water that surround the city. Here the heat is captured by the valley and held hostage well into the night. It is pleasant during spring and autumn, though even in summer the temperatures rarely rise above ninety degrees. And it is a dry heat.  
  
He unplugs his phone, slips his satchel over his shoulder, and pops the trunk, pulling out his suitcase, a quick beep echoing through the parking lot as he remotely locks the car on his way into the hotel. It’s more out of habit than any actual concern that his car may be stolen. His check-in goes smoothly, though it takes longer than he expected; it’s not his first time in a hotel, but it is his first time checking in to a hotel. While the clerk processes his credit card, he manages to ask about the continental breakfast so that he won’t have to struggle to find it in the morning, glancing over at the room the manager points to. Finally, the card key is handed to him with an accompanying “Have a good night” and he begins heading down the hall.  
  
The room is small and clean, light sharp in the darkened room. There is a window that will provide him with a striking view of what passes for mountains on this side of the state when the sun rises in the morning. For now, it provides him with a moon that is full and bright. He slips the strap over his head and drops his satchel on the spare bed, hoisting his suitcase up beside it. Pulling out his phone, he checks eagerly for a message from Jinki, disappointed but not surprised when he doesn’t find one: Jinki’s total immersion when he’s focused on a project often causes him to forget that there is a world outside of his graphs and charts.  
  
He types a quick message to Jinki to let him know that he’s arrived before placing the phone on the stand between the two beds and flopping down onto the empty one. He tucks his hands under his head and stares at the ceiling, waiting for Jinki’s message, hoping that at this late hour he will finally have remembered to take a break. He’s tired, very tired, it was a long drive, and he’s nearly fallen asleep when his phone starts playing the ringtone assigned specifically for Jinki, the one that makes him blush when they’re in public. He sits up and grabs it off the table, swiping his thumb across the screen and grinning as Jinki’s face comes into view.  
  
“Hey,” Jinki says blearily, rubbing his face with an open hand and Taemin’s grateful to know that he won’t be driving home in this state.  
  
“Hey.”  
  
“How was your trip?”  
  
“Uneventful. Nice, quiet, the usual back roads.”  
  
“Good. I got your picture. I can’t believe they had a giraffe on their roof.”  
  
Taemin laughs and tells him how the inside was actually designed like a 50s diner, a fact that Jinki laughs a little too hard at.  
  
“How are you doing?”, Taemin asks, “You look exhausted.”  
  
“Don’t try to boost my ego with hollow flattery, it will get you nowhere.”, he replies, making Taemin chuckle. “I am exhausted but we’re almost done. I think we have maybe an hour of work left and then we can call it a night.”  
  
“That’s good.”  
  
“Have you eaten?”  
  
“I finished up your snack box before I got in. I’m not really hungry.” Jinki nods and they’re able to talk for only a few minutes more before there is a muffled voice off-screen and Jinki says he has to go.  
  
“Hey,” Jinki says, his tired smile brightening, “I love you.”  
  
“I love you too.” Taemin smiles and blows a silly kiss at Jinki who laughs and pretends to juggle it in his free hand, acting as though he may drop it any minute. He tucks the “kiss” into an imaginary shirt pocket, winks, and then disappears from Taemin’s screen.  
  
Still holding the phone in his hands he lets it drop onto his chest and lies back, his head resting against the pillow still tucked under the patterned bedspread, unsure what to do now. As tired as he is he’s also a bit energized from finally being off the road, his travels across the state completed. He’s also a little sad because he can’t remember the last time he fell asleep alone; it happens so rarely. Sitting up, he places the phone back on the stand, pulling a pillow out from under the bedspread. Walking over to the other bed, he begins to search through his suitcase until he finds what he’s looking for.  
  
Pulling Jinki’s dark gray hoodie out of its plastic bag, he zips it over the standard issue white pillow case. He clutches the pillow to his chest, inhaling the scent of Jinki embedded in the fabric and immediately feels the tension lift. He’ll rest a few minutes like this, get his bearings, and then he’ll brush his teeth and prepare for bed. That way, hopefully, he’ll be ready to see Minho in the morning.  
  
~  
  
Taemin wakes up in a panic. He is cold and disoriented and his hand can’t find purchase; there is nothing but mattress and worn sheets beneath his palms. He’s woken too early. Though the sun shines brightly through the gaps between the curtains and the window, when he grabs his phone off the side table the numbers tell him he still has twenty minutes before Jinki is going to call.  
  
Jinki. That’s what’s wrong. He remembers he’s alone and for a moment he can’t breathe. His head throbs and it feels as if the air above him is pressing down, mockingly staying out of reach of his lungs and burying his body beneath its full weight. Rolling into a fetal position, he hugs the pillow wrapped in Jinki’s hoodie tight against his chest, eyes closed as he counts backwards from one hundred slowly, murmuring each number with what little breaths he can manage.  
  
He’s supposed to count back by sevens, the struggle to figure out which numbers come next intended to work as a distraction to his panicked mind. But that’s like math and Taemin is not skilled at math, doesn’t need the extra anxiety this practice induces, so he counts back each number one at a time. By the time he hits forty-seven the pressure has dissipated and when he reaches eighteen he’s breathing normally. He might be more concerned that it took so long, he’s gotten so much better at this in the last few years. However, he knew he was pushing himself by taking this trip alone and that this was his mind’s way of pushing back. What was important now was that it had passed and he could open his eyes again.  
  
He stays in that position a little longer, adjusting to the emptiness and the silence. Slowly he unravels, pulls the covers back and slips his legs to the floor, sitting up. He’s still a little dizzy but he can manage so he stands, picking up his phone and his small toiletry bag, and carrying them both with him into the bathroom where he places them on the counter. He bustles around a bit, relieving himself and splashing cold water on his face, brushing his teeth and avoiding his reflection in the mirror. He takes his meds with a sip of warm water, and when Jinki doesn’t call he takes the phone back into his room.  
  
He’s a bit anxious and he needs something to do with his hands so he takes a chance and attempts to make the bed. Even his careful examination of how the other bed has been made doesn’t help him and he’s left with a crooked, lumpy mess of sheets and bedspread. Sighing, he pulls Jinki’s pillow back against his chest, and waits for the call.  
  
It’s an eternal three minutes from the last time he checks his phone to when he hears his phone ring, snatching it up and swiping the screen to answer the call, smiling happily when he sees Jinki’s mussed hair and sleepy eyes on his screen. Jinki’s clearly propped his phone up on a pillow, his head resting on a bent elbow.  
  
“Hey.” Jinki croaks out groggily, his voice raw and Taemin laughs.  
  
“Hey Aurora,” he replies, a joke about the depth of Jinki’s sleep. Jinki rolls his eyes and rubs his face with the hand not propping his head up and Taemin wants to reach out and touch the bristles across his face, to feel them scrape against the pads of his fingers.  
  
“How’d you sleep?” Taemin stiffens slightly and he can tell by the subtle shift in Jinki’s gaze that he’s noticed. He manages a tense “Fine”, and immediately regrets being terse: he doesn’t want their morning together spoiled by his morning alone. He wants to apologize but he doesn’t have the words and he knows Jinki doesn’t like it so he racks his brain to come up with something to say.  
  
“The sheets are a bit scratchy but they smell like bleach and it makes me want to go swimming. There’s a pool, you should pack your shorts.” It’s a throwaway thought and Jinki chuckles, nods non-committedly, and Taemin likes the way Jinki’s eyes are slowly blinking awake.  
  
“I missed you this morning.” It’s a confession, toeing the line between telling Jinki how bad it was and a simple acknowledgement of his absence. Jinki reads between the lines and responds as though it’s the latter.  
  
“I missed you too. I didn’t realize how much space you take up. This bed is huge!” He wriggles around for emphasis, keeping his head on his elbow but moving his butt in the air. Taemin laughs despite the pang the thought of Jinki being pleased to be alone causes him. He knows it wasn’t meant that way so he blinks the thought away and tells Jinki not to get too comfortable.  
  
“The beds here are smaller. I’ll take up even more room tonight.”  
  
“I look forward to it.” There’s a soft pause between them and Taemin finds himself wishing for the hours to pass, for Jinki to arrive.  
  
“I’m thinking of having breakfast in the little cafeteria they have in the lobby. Save some money so we can have a nice dinner.” It’s a question as much as it is a statement and one that Jinki answers with an affirmation and an assertion that he had already planned that they would eat out that night. He presses Taemin to choose a venue and he responds that, if it’s still in business, he’d like to try the Korean BBQ restaurant that had just set up as they moved out.  
  
He wants to keep Jinki on the line, to plug in his headphones and have him accompany him to the cafeteria so that he won’t be alone and so that he’ll be left alone. But Jinki needs to get up and get ready and he doesn’t actually need Jinki this time, just wants him, and he’ll see him tonight so he takes a breath and says good-bye, says “I love you too” before the line disconnects and he’s again alone.  
  
The phone slips from his hand onto the bed as he decides to take a shower. The water is warm but not hot, the spray strong but not striking, and it’s everything that isn’t home. The soap and shampoo he packed are miniature versions of the ones that smell like Jinki and his life on the other side of the state. The scent helps him relax and build up the confidence he’ll need to get his free breakfast. He uses the hotel towels though because they smell like bleach, and because he didn’t have room in his luggage for his own.  
  
He dresses quickly; dark blue jeans, a loose black T-shirt, black sneakers, and the hoodie he had slept with through the night, the hood pulled tight over his head. The tiny room is packed when he arrives at the doorway, overlapping voices echoing loudly in the small space. The additional sound of plastic scraping against Styrofoam is too much so he turns around and heads back to his room where he fiddles with things, watches a little TV, and watches the clock.  
  
After half an hour he tries again, relieved to find it empty, almost eerily still. The selection is simple; fruit that looks out of place, sugary cereals, milk, coffee, and bagels. He fills up a bowl with Fruit Loops and smears a blueberry bagel with strawberry cream cheese. He’d take his food back to his room if he thought he could sneak it down the hall without shaking. Instead he rushes his meal, glancing at the door every few minutes to make sure no one else comes in. No one does so he takes the chance and has a second serving before tossing his bowl, spoon, plate, and knife in the garbage bin and heading back to his room. He takes off the hoodie, packs up his phone, wallet, and room key in his satchel, and slips into a jacket that is far too warm for the weather: black wool body and leather sleeves designed to keep out a chill that doesn’t exist.  
  
There’s no rush for his visit to Minho, he’s not expecting to be there until the afternoon, and he needs just a little more time to think, to clear his head and decide what he wants to say, how he wants to say it. There are some places he wants to visit, places he should wait until Jinki arrives tonight to see, to visit together in the morning. So he puts them off and goes to the ones that are important to him, the ones he keeps for himself. It’s not that he doesn’t let Jinki see them, it’s not that they’re secrets that he keeps; after six years together there very few secrets left between them. These are just...places he prefers to be alone in.  
  
The library for instance, his refuge when he was younger and one of the few places he felt safe among strangers, knowing that he would be left alone. He pulls into the parking lot, pausing to admire and photograph the mural outside the entrance, reading the dates and taking a close-up shot of the drawing that means the most to him, the one that makes him sigh. It’s quiet inside, and cool. He breathes in the smell of old books and squints in the not-quite-bright-enough light, brushing his fingers against the spines and listening to the shuffle and shift of the other few patrons. He wanders around slowly, swathed in calm and nostalgia.  
  
His next stop is the park with the caged birds, the nets over their yards always a source of consternation for him when he was a child: what was the point of being a bird if you weren’t allowed to fly? He still feels a pang of sympathy to see them as he walks from his car to the display. The only birds that make sense in this prison are the peacocks; flightless avian whose primary purpose in life is to strut around and be seen. Still, it seems unfair that these beautiful birds are trapped in all this netting while the ducks and geese float and fly freely across the road, gathered around the pond at the edge of the park. He buys a bag of birdseed from the automated dispensary at the entrance and walks through the enclosure slowly, studying and photographing the display, tossing in the kernels as the mood hits.  
  
When he’s through, he heads over to the pond with the ducks and geese and takes pictures of the fountain in the center of the water, the birds, and the benches that surrounded it. He knows there’s a pavilion at the far end that is hidden unless one knows it’s there and he finds himself under its shade, watching the ripples on the water and feeling calm. It’s still a foreign feeling, one that he has slowly become more familiar with, and it’s welcome and he stays still as long as he can to let it in. He leaves only when his phone rings in his hand and it is then that he realizes it’s time to visit Minho, time to pick up the things for their picnic.  
  
Strolling through the aisles is arduous and yet not because while he hates shopping alone, and therefore rarely does, he is in a market he has known since he was a child, one that he shopped at with Minho, and his parents, until they were teenagers. And he is hungry. He purchases cold fried chicken, potato salad, green beans, fresh fruit, and two bottles of root beer, grabbing assorted cutlery and napkins from the deli area. He asks for a paper sack because he likes the sound it makes when it crinkles and because a plastic bag just seems wrong for a picnic.  
  
The drive over is long, Minho is clear across town, and he spends the time fidgeting in his seat and tapping his thumbs on the steering wheel, the car silent because he can’t concentrate on this drive with the music playing. The gates are open and he drives in, over the pavement, up and down the lots until he finds Minho’s place. He grabs the bag of food and a blanket from the back seat and steps out, the sound of paper crinkling sharp against the quiet of the early afternoon.  
  
He walks across the lawn up to where Minho rests, waiting for him in the shade. It’s a beautiful day, the sun bright, and there’s a soft breeze that keeps the heat from becoming stifling though it’s still too warm to wear the jacket. He does anyway, sentimentality overriding sensibility. He unpacks, placing the blanket on the ground and the food on top of it, leaving the lids on to keep out bugs. The yard needs a bit of a clean-up and he’ll tend to it after the meal, after he’s already messed his hands with food.  
  
But for now he can’t help himself. He kneels down, reaching out and brushing his fingers against the dusty headstone, the one that says “Choi Minho, beloved son and brother”, the dates of his birth and death etched into the cold stone. He smiles softly, sadly, as he speaks to his brother the words he’s not been able to say for more than seven years.  
  
“Hello Minho.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taemin tells Minho about Jinki.

Taemin sits back on the blanket, his legs crossed in front of him, and pulls out some chicken, taking a bite. It’s cold and soft against his teeth, spicy on his tongue. A sip of root beer washes it down and the chill of the drink is refreshing. Every movement is a delay, an inaction now that he’s finally here. He’s seeing Minho again for the first time and his thoughts are jumbled, his head flooded with a thousand memories, words spoken and actions taken.

“It’s been a long time”, he starts, “I know I should have come, that I should have visited. It was easier to pretend that you weren’t dead if I didn’t have to actually see it written down. I could pretend that you had left and might still come back. That watching you die had just been a bad dream.”

He grimaces, his fingers still gripped around the glass bottle. This all suddenly seems so foolish, this trip, this picnic. Yet he needs this, he needs to say this, and he needs Minho to hear him. To at least pretend that Minho can hear him.

“I met someone, the year after you died. At a bonfire Jongin dragged me to. You know Jongin, always pressing me to try new things. I don’t know what it is about him that makes me agree to do stuff we both know I would never do, or even think of, on my own.”

Taemin shakes his head and chuckles, another sip of soda sliding coolly down his throat.

“Like dance. You were so funny, you argued so hard for them to let me take classes. I think that in as much as it was for you, Dad said yes just to get me out of the house. To him it was worth any price to make me seem normal, even if it was just dance and not a ‘real’ sport. At least there were trophies. That always seemed to keep him happy. And surprised. I don’t think he thought I’d actually be any good at it.”

He rolls his eyes at the memory, the one that still stings because he could see it in the way his father looked at him while contemplating Minho’s plea that he still thought he was a freak, but now at least one that would leave the house. It was worth it because the escape from the world dance gave Taemin, sheltering him in hallowed studio walls, embraced in music, invigorated him, and he finally had something that was tangibly his, where he was Taemin and not “Minho’s brother”.

He’s lost in thought when a bee flies too close to his head, the buzz like needles in his ears and he jumps up and back, nearly tripping on the blanket in the process. It flies away but his heart is still thumping, he’s still on edge as he tentatively takes his seat again, chuckling nervously.

“I’m sure you thought that was funny,” he says to Minho, “You always did. I could never understand why until I saw a video recording of myself and saw the way my face scrunches up. I’d laugh too.”

He takes a bite of the fresh fruit and enjoys the sweetness on his tongue, the clash with the flavor of the root beer a bit bitter.

“Mom and Dad never really spoke to me after you died.”, he starts again. “They left right after I graduated. They didn’t even come to the wedding…” He’s fiddling with the band around his finger and he doesn’t even realize it. He shakes his head and wipes away a stray tear.

“I’m getting ahead of myself. Like I said, I met someone. And I want to tell you about him. And about me.”

~September 2009~

Taemin watches the blaze rise into the sky. It’s still light out making it almost absurd for a fire this big to be burning. But there is a certain chill in the air, summer is lingering but autumn is quickly taking hold, and he’s not the only one in a jacket, though theirs are much lighter than the wool and leather one he’s sporting. He’s mesmerized by the flickering light, by the pop and crackle of the wood burning but he won’t go any closer. There was a bench at the edge of the area where the bonfire is being held that he had quickly claimed, keeping himself as far off from the crowd as possible while still being a part of the group.

A sympathetic senior, one of the many students celebrating the beginning of the end of their high school career, offers him a red plastic cup that Taemin declines with a wave of his palm and a tight smile. The boy, one of Minho’s friends, nods and walks away. He’s the last person to attempt conversation with Taemin for the next half hour and he’s content in the silence.

School has been in session for a month now, the transition from the freedom of summer to the structure of classes complete. He had come at Jongin’s request, his demand that Taemin leave his house and “have some fun” because they both know that this isn’t Taemin’s strength, hanging out in crowds, but they’re both trying to at least make it easier on him.

“It’s just kids from school. You can crash at my place later.”

He hesitated but ultimately decided to go. It had been a hard summer, his parents more distant than ever, the silent son forgotten at best and disdained at worst. The only reprieve had been the dance classes he suspects his parents still pay for because Minho had asked for them, and because it was worth the expense to keep him away. At this point anything that got him out of the house was a welcome distraction, even ones that promised noise and crowds. Jongin’s cousin Junmyeon, who had graduated last year, gives them a ride and they agree to text when they’re ready to be picked up.

Almost immediately Taemin finds himself abandoned, Jongin’s head turned by a pretty girl with a smile. He had already found the bench by then and so he sits waiting, watching the fire, and wondering what it was like to feel that way, to be so consumed with a girl that you forget your friends.

“Do you mind if I sit here?”

Taemin looks up, startled from his thoughts, to see a stranger looking down at him with the brightest smile he’d ever seen. He’s taken aback by how handsome the other is, his eyes full of mirth, a button down shirt tucked into fitted jeans and a ball cap sporting a logo that Taemin doesn’t recognize. The silence carries on a beat too long and the other’s smile is beginning to falter. He realizes that he’s staring and swallows, trying to remember what the question was.

“Are you okay?”

That’s the response he usually gets and it’s enough to shake him out of his trance. He nods and scoots over to the very edge, glancing back up at the smile and finding himself smiling too. The stranger sits, himself at the other end of the short bench, and turns to Taemin, putting his hand out for a shake. To his own surprise, Taemin accepts, the other’s hand soft and cool in his own. There’s something slightly familiar about this boy that he can’t quite pinpoint and it’s disorienting to already feel so at ease with a stranger.

“Jinki.”

“Taemin.”

“So what sport are you so invested in that you’ve decided to roast yourself tonight?”

Taemin stares at him, not understanding the question. Jinki points at the jacket Taemin has himself bundled in and Taemin glances down, unsure how to respond.

“Oh it’s….”, he struggles to come up with an answer that is not a lie but not the truth. “Soccer.”

Jinki nods in a way that Taemin assumes is acceptance and he quickly takes the chance to move the conversation in a new direction.

“You’re new here.” He grimaces, he didn’t mean for that to sound so abrupt. But Jinki just lets out a little laugh, that smile still shining.

“Yeah, just transferred.” He doesn’t explain why he’s moved to town and it doesn’t occur to Taemin to ask, too upset by the thought of having to start over in an unfamiliar setting.

“What grade?”

“Ah, senior.”

Taemin is nodding in acknowledgement of the statement when it strikes him that Jinki’s the same age as Minho and that they would have graduated together this spring.

“What grade are you in?”, he’s asked.

“Junior.”

“So beyond bonfires, what is there to do in town?”

Their conversation flows easily, the topics covered range from favorite ice cream (because the local pizza parlor with the hand-scooped ice cream was one of the few places Taemin could think of that were “fun” in town) to favorite music. Jinki listens intently as Taemin discusses dance, a topic he usually avoids because no one else ever seems to be interested in hearing about it. But Jinki listens and asks questions that Taemin finds himself happily answering. They talk through the setting of the sun, dusk falling gently around them, Taemin fully immersed in everything Jinki has to say, envying the ease with which he speaks. He finds his sense of humor hilarious, his little play on words making Taemin giggle, the back of his hand bashfully pressed to his lips.

They’re so engrossed in their conversation that Jongin’s flustered return, with mussed hair and cocky grin, startles Taemin; he’d forgotten they’d come together. He glances at Jinki who’s already rising, stretching out a hand to introduce himself to Jongin. Jongin puts his out automatically and glances between the two, clearly surprised, and Taemin takes the moment to stand himself.

“This is Jinki. He’s a senior, just transferred. This is my friend Jongin, sophomore.”

“Good to meet you.”

“You too. We should be going.” Jongin’s look is pointed and as much as Taemin wants to just keep talking to Jinki they really do need to get back. He opens his mouth to say good-bye at the same moment Jinki asks, “Hey, can I get your number?” He’s secretly thrilled and hands over his phone so that Jinki can input the digits, laughing at the ringtone Jinki’s phone blares out. They stand there smiling at each other and it’s nice and awkward, and it makes Taemin’s heart race in a way he’s unfamiliar with, an anxiety he’s never known and he was sure he knew them all.

“I’ll see you later Taemin.”

“Bye Jinki.” He waves as he walks away and he’s not even to Junmyeon’s car when his phone chirps with a message from his new friend.

He can feel Jongin’s eyes on him during the ride home but it’s not until they’re back in his room that he begins peppering Taemin with questions. Taemin just shrugs and smiles, distracting Jongin with inquiries about the pretty girl. All at once his interaction with Jinki is forgotten and Taemin is left listening to what he’s sure is an exaggeration of how his friend spent his evening.

~

“Do you mind if I sit here?” Taemin laughs because this is a joke, a repetition of the first words spoken between them, and Jinki has been asking him the same question every lunch period for almost a month, joining him at the end of the hallway near the back doors. It’s secluded and quiet and Taemin’s favorite spot. He nods and Jinki slides down the wall beside him, pulling a chicken salad sandwich in a plastic box out of a paper sack that crinkles in a way that Taemin finds soothing. There’s silence for a bit, the only sounds are their chewing and breathing and it’s a bit unsettling: usually they jump right in.

“Did you hear about the party at Gwiboon’s house on Friday?”

Taemin swallows hard because he had heard about the party but he hadn’t expected to be asked about it. As much as he liked Gwiboon, her parties were known for having so many people, so much noise. He nods non-committedly and hopes that that’s the end of the conversation.

“I was thinking about going.”

He nods again because he wants Jinki to know that he’s heard even though now he’s staring at the carpet, his sandwich held motionless in the air in front of his chest.

“I know it’s not really your thing, but I was wondering if you’d like to come with me. Just for like, forty-five minutes? Not the whole evening or anything. It could be fun.”

Taemin envies the way that Jinki is able to eat his sandwich while he’s left dizzy and a little nauseous. But there’s something nagging in the back of his mind, something that Jinki said that’s important and it takes him a moment to catch what it is.

“Forty-five minutes?”

“I just thought an hour would be too long but maybe forty-five minutes would be fine? And we could go to The Scoop after and have some ice cream.”

The Scoop. One of his safe places, the one he told Jinki about when they first met. He finds himself nodding slowly. If there was a clear time frame, then maybe…maybe he could do it. Forty-five minutes seems awfully long.

“Could it be thirty-five?”, he asks tentatively, hoping that it’s alright to ask.

“Oh, sure.” Taemin looks up from the ground and watches him chew, his face passive as he nods thoughtfully.

“Yeah. I just want to say hello, maybe meet a few new people. I don’t expect you to introduce me,” he laughs as Taemin’s face abruptly falls, his panic evident. “It’s Gwiboon’s party and you know she’ll be more than happy to play hostess.”

They go shopping together, Jinki already has an idea of what they should go as and he knows exactly what he’s looking for. Taemin smiles watching the other sift through the packaged costumes and make-up kits and he’s struck by how happy he is just shopping with another boy. Taemin can remember the last time he was this happy, but it wasn’t this kind of joy and it’s thrilling. He leans into it because he can’t quite embrace it yet, doesn’t yet trust it. He’s pensive and he’s not sure whether this is a date or whether he just hopes it is. He tries asking Jongin but his best friend is of no use because as much as he cares about Taemin he is more invested in the pretty girl from the bonfire. He can’t stop talking about her but Taemin hasn’t caught her name. Or maybe he has but he’s forgotten. He’s not good with names anyway and now his brain is being filled with school work and with Jinki and he doesn’t have the space, or the inclination, to remember the names of pretty girls.

It’s brisk as they make their way up the darkened street, Taemin grateful that his costume is warm and has sleeves that he can hide his fists in. They are nearing the house where the party is being held, the sound of music and raised voices audible even from a block away when Taemin stops them on the sidewalk just outside the gate. He’s breathing fast and Jinki is giving him that look that everyone gives him when he can’t catch his breath, that mix of concern and fear. The part of him that wants to run from the noise and from his question for Jinki is being overridden by the surprising part that wants to kiss him and for the first time Taemin thinks he might be normal.

“Is this a date?” he asks, hopeful yet afraid that he’s read everything wrong because he’s never had anyone so interested in him before and he’s never been interested in anyone ever. But he is now, very interested. Jinki’s face is guarded and he responds, a little too calmly.

“Do you want it to be a date?”

It’s an out, a chance for Taemin to take control of the situation, a chance for either or both of them to laugh off the tension between them, to be relieved, or to be disappointed. Taemin pauses for a moment, watching Jinki, hesitating before softly whispering, “Yes”, his eyes wide and he can’t look away. Jinki breaks into a grin, slipping the plastic fangs over his teeth, and taking Taemin by the hand, leading him up the path with his black cape swishing behind them. Their faces are equally pale and Taemin has to fight the urge to rub the twin red marks on his neck, a nervous habit that will smear the make-up Jinki applied so carefully earlier that evening; he doesn’t want to do anything that will ruin their night. Gwiboon laughs when she sees them, a vampire and his victim, and for the rest of the evening Jinki proudly states, “This is my raisin Taemin”, and Taemin snorts, his eyes squinting closed, his fingers entwined with Jinki’s and it feels nice.

~

“It’s good to see you smile again.” Taemin looks up from his phone, a message to Jinki half-typed, his brow furrowed in confusion.

“What?”

They’re sitting at the table in Jongin’s kitchen, the sound of his parents’ film in the next room a soft hum in the background. Jongin nods his head at Taemin’s phone.

“He makes you smile.”

He’s right. Jinki makes Taemin smile more and more each day, with his silly gags and bright smile. And he makes him feel guilty. His brother is dead; he’s not supposed to feel joy; he’s supposed to be in mourning. But Jinki breaks through Taemin’s walls as though they were nothing but sheets blowing in the breeze, brushed aside with a bare hand. He listens to Taemin, never pushes him when they go out. He makes Taemin so very happy and Taemin aches with the knowledge that he will never be able to introduce him to his brother, the two will never meet. He wonders what Minho would think of Jinki’s jokes, if Jinki would have played ball with Minho with the hoop their parents set up in the driveway, if they would have been friends. He thinks they would. What he knows is that the pain in his heart is gently softening, that it is not fair that he should fall in love without his brother to congratulate him.

Jongin stands up, tossing his empty soda can into the recycle bin and heads towards the stairs, towards his room.

“Let me know if he breaks your heart,” he says over his shoulder, “My cousin’s got pigs.”

~

He spends the first anniversary of his life without Minho up in his room alone, his phone turned off, surrounded by silence. His parents have gone, to where he doesn’t know, nor does he particularly care. They all grieve in their own way. He has a candle lit for his brother because he can’t bring himself to leave the house and he doesn’t want to ask anyone for a ride to the church, the buses running erratically on a holiday weekend. It’s not the same day but it’s the same date either way, and he stares at the wall while the scent of fire wafts through the air and his chest aches.

He is startled out of his melancholy by a knock on his bedroom door. He’s startled and confused; his parents never knock and he doesn’t remember hearing the front door open. There’s a pause long enough for him to believe he had imagined it before he hears Jinki’s deep voice murmur his name from the other side. He lies there, unsure what to do. Today was for mourning and Jinki makes him happy and he doesn’t think he can reconcile having the two emotions existing in tandem. But even as these thoughts flutter through his head he finds himself rolling off his bed and crossing the room, opening the door. Jinki stands there with his phone in his hand, the concern on his face evident.

“You weren’t answering and the door was open. Are you OK?”

Taemin stares at Jinki in disbelief a beat longer than is comfortable, the silence between them growing. Just as Jinki steps forward, a soft “Hey” murmured from his lips, Taemin breaks, tears pouring down his face, the rush of emotion after being numb for so long overwhelming. He falls into Jinki’s embrace, held tight to his chest, both arms strong and warm against his back while he hiccups and sobs, finally crying for his older brother.

~

“Do you want to talk about him?”

It takes Taemin a moment to recognize Jinki has spoken. They’re on Taemin’s bed and he’s leaning into Jinki’s chest, enjoying the soothing sensation of blunt fingertips stroking his hair, brushing over his scalp, as he listens to the other’s heartbeat. He’s not sure how long he’s been crying but his head aches as he looks up through dewy eyelashes, his eyes bloodshot.

“What?”

“Your brother. Do you want to talk about him?”

He thinks about it quietly, blinking eyes still damp with tears.

“No,” he whispers, burrowing deeper into Jinki’s side, slipping his arms around the other’s waist and linking his fingers. He wants to feel Jinki’s warmth, the flex of muscles as he continues to stroke Taemin’s hair. He wants this feeling, this security. And if he talks about Minho he will feel sad and he doesn’t want to feel sad, he wants to feel happy, to feel safe. He has to make a choice between the two because his brain cannot process both.

He chooses Jinki.

~

Until he met Jinki, Taemin had wondered, for a very long time, whether there was something wrong with him. Every time he had been asked “Who do you think is cute?” or “When are you going to get a girlfriend?” he had no answer other than a shrug and a shy smile. He had grown increasingly flustered as the years passed and he still had no response, and he doesn’t understand why they care so much, why he doesn’t care at all. He knows enough to know that he’s not interested in girls, but the fleeting moments of attraction to other boys are so few and far between that he’s not sure he even wants a boyfriend. And as much as society tells him that he, as a young man, should be interested in sex all the time he’s just not. The few times he’s watched porn it’s been more out of boredom than anything, sort of like watching a documentary with naked men and…other things. It’s stimulating enough but he doesn’t fantasize and he’s content on his own. So he continues his hermit life, hiding in corners and dancing on stages, watching his best friend fawn over pretty girls.

He’s surprised, then, when he finds himself wanting all those things with Jinki. Wanting to hold his hand, wanting to feel his lips against his own, wanting him in ways he’d never wanted another person before. He’d been disappointed when their first date had ended without a kiss, though they had held hands through most of the night.

It’s nearly Christmas and the first week of winter break before Taemin finds his lips pressed to Jinki’s, his first kiss. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, only that he knows that he wants to do it. They’re in Jinki’s room, alone in the house, celebrating his 18th birthday. He had been longing for this since Halloween but he hadn’t known how to make a move and he wasn’t sure Jinki would be interested. His thoughts swung constantly between confidence in Jinki’s affection and certainty that he was sharing his attentions out of pity. The conflict kept him from acting and it’s not until Jinki leans forward, pausing to ask if it’s alright to kiss him, that Taemin finally gets his wish.

His face is cradled in Jinki’s hands and his own rest on Jinki’s biceps, the muscles firm beneath his fingers as he grips them tightly. Jinki’s lips are soft and warm and he tingles everywhere, that unique blend of calm and vibrancy that seems to fall only when he’s with Jinki. The kiss ends far too quickly for Taemin’s liking and his hands itch with the desire to pull him back, to connect their bodies again. But Jinki is giving him a look that he has learned means that Jinki is making sure Taemin is all right, that he isn’t pushing him too far. It’s frustrating and endearing that in this moment, when Taemin is so amped up with emotion and lust, that Jinki is still clear-headed. He leans forward, his eyes on Jinki’s lips, glancing up briefly before pressing a kiss to Jinki’s mouth, chaste and slow, all he knows how to do. And this time Jinki doesn’t pull away.

Weeks go by and as they pass Taemin’s relationship with Jinki slowly deepens. He has developed his kissing skills, loves the way Jinki’s tongue feels in his mouth, the way his tongue feels in Jinki’s. He wants more but Jinki is keeping a leisurely pace, their expansion from chaste kisses to full blown make-out sessions was excruciatingly slow and it feels an eternity before he lets Taemin run his hands beneath his shirt. He’s being gentle with Taemin, taking his time, but Taemin knows enough to know that gentle and slow isn’t what he wants. He needs more but he’s not sure how to bring it up so he follows Jinki’s lead and licks his lips when he’s finally allowed to drop to his knees.

They don’t hold hands or kiss at school, Taemin watching enviously as Jongin locks the pretty girl against the wall behind the school and kisses her in full view of anyone passing by, unconcerned. It’s the 21st century but it’s a small town and just religious enough to make it dangerous for two boys to be too affectionate in the world. Their relationship may be a secret, though one not purposefully kept, because Taemin is quiet and keeps to the background, and Jinki is new and unfamiliar. But it is exactly those qualities that threaten their safety and so they are discreet.

It is very different when they are alone, when Taemin spends the afternoon sucking Jinki off and Jinki reciprocates with a tug of his soft hand and a swipe of his thumb. His other hand holds Taemin by the back of the neck, pressing their foreheads together while he watches Taemin melt. Taemin feels things he’d never felt before in more ways than one and he finds himself whispering “I love you,” as Jinki strokes him off. He gasps in a horror that is swiftly quelled by an increase in Jinki’s speed and an “I love you”, breathed into his mouth before his lips were covered by Jinki’s. Afterwards they laugh, Taemin sheepishly and Jinki with the mirth Taemin had seen when they first met.

“That’s not exactly how I expected to confess,” he says, leaning back and smiling at Taemin, and Taemin smiles back, lying down next to him, his hand pressed against Jinki’s chest. He feels so happy, he feels at home.

~

The first time Jinki is inside Taemin is wonderful and weird. He enjoys the feeling of the lubricant slicked condom slipping in and out as Jinki moves inside him, of the fullness he experiences every time Jinki pushes in all the way. He enjoys the intimacy, of being near Jinki, feeling his naked chest press against the skin of his back, touching the flexing muscles of his forearms with his fingertips.

It’s clear that he knows what he’s doing. The way he moves his hips and unabashedly reaches for Taemin, twisting his wrist and swiping his thumb makes Taemin feel his virginity acutely. He wonders briefly how many people Jinki has done this with before Jinki shifts just right and Taemin is reduced to incoherent moans. However, not everything Jinki does is pleasurable, his hands and body moving in a rhythm meant for someone else and not mapped out for Taemin. It is not enough because no matter how much research Taemin did, how much he had prepared himself mentally and physically for what was going to happened, it just wasn’t enough. And Jinki is being too gentle with him, still, even as he pulls out and rolls Taemin onto his back.

Taemin knows enough to know that gentle isn’t what he wants, but he isn’t sure how to phrase it, afraid that this might be the thing that will finally make Jinki realize what a freak he is and leave. He maintains his silence and they begin to create their own rhythm.

Suddenly Taemin gasps and Jinki pulls away, pushing himself up on his arms and looking down at Taemin’s surprised face beneath him.

“Oh my god! I’m so sorry! I didn’t…”

Taemin’s hand flutters to the point on his shoulder that still stings from where Jinki bit him. It was perfect, exactly what he needed, what he hadn’t known how to express in words.

“Do it again.”

Jinki looks down at him in confusion, a hint of distrust in his dark eyes. “What?”

“Do it again.” Taemin stares him down, keeping his eyes fixated on Jinki. When his boyfriend continues to hesitate he reaches up to pull Jinki back down to him by the waist. They maintain eye contact as Jinki slowly lowers his head, tilting so that they can keep staring at each other as he kisses Taemin’s shoulder before gently biting into it. Taemin gasps again and Jinki moves to push off, stopped by Taemin’s grip around his waist.

“Harder”, Taemin whispers, his eyes desperate. Again Jinki lowers his head and again he bites into Taemin’s shoulder, harder this time, and Taemin can feel the shock of pain vibrate through his body, his back arches, his eyes rolling shut. Finally, he thinks to himself, finally.

~

If Taemin were asked what it was that he liked about Jinki so much he wouldn’t know what to say and he wouldn’t be able to stop talking. His smile, his jokes, the way he looked so different when he was reading or on his phone, his thoughtful expression so serious it almost made him look angry. His body, the soft muscles of his biceps and thighs, the way they flexed when he walked. His full lips and dark hair, the way his hand felt when their fingers entwined.

But it was more than that and those were the things he would have struggled to express. How does one describe how another person makes them feel safe? It’s not enough to describe all the little things they do. It’s more organic than that, more basic, almost spiritual. Taemin knows he’s safe with Jinki and he doesn’t know how and he doesn’t know how he knows but he knows. He just does.

Still, it takes him until the end of the school year to share the one thing he’s been holding back. It’s not a secret, in such a small town there’s no way Jinki hasn’t heard about Minho. But it’s Taemin’s brother he wants to tell him about. Not the star athlete, not the popular jock, not “that poor kid” who “died so young”, hit by a drunk driver while he was out picking up last minute supplies for his family’s Thanksgiving dinner. But the brother he misses every day, the one who made him feel safe the way Jinki does.

They’re lying in bed together, just resting in each other’s arms, the gentle rhythm of Jinki’s chest rising and falling with each breath against Taemin’s back.

“I want to tell you about Minho.” He feels Jinki kiss behind his ear and relaxes just a little.

“OK.”

“I saw him die,” Taemin whispers, his finger tangling with Jinki’s, the other’s arm a warm weight against his side. He feels the muscle of Jinki’s bicep flex beneath his head, and blunt fingers lazily brushing through his hair.

“You were with him?”

“Not in the car, no. At the hospital.”

Jinki nods and he can feel his warm breath against his scalp.

“It wasn’t him. I mean…it was him but…just his body. Everything that made him my brother was gone.”

He takes a shuddering breath and closes his eyes.

“His eyes were closed, there was this bag hung on a pole next to his bed with a tube that ran into his arm. And they had him hooked up to this machine that pumped air into his lungs. It made this whooshing sound, like ocean waves.” Tears slip through his shut eyelids, plopping against the sheets as Taemin relives the memory.

“There was so much noise. There was this beeping sound I couldn’t quite place, I still don’t know what it was, and the florescent lights were buzzing. The room smelled of ammonia, and there were so many voices in the hall. Holiday weekends, I guess.

He was…so bruised. Even if he had been awake he wouldn’t have been able to open his eyes.

We didn’t speak, my parents and I, they just held each other and watched Minho. When the doctor finally showed up he said what was already obvious; there was no hope. A stranger came in and sentenced my brother to death.

They waited a few hours. All of us stuffed into that little room. My mom sat on his bed, holding his hand, talking to him, my dad’s hand on his shoulder. I just leaned up against the wall and watched.

All the noise stopped when they turned everything off. All the noise. It was so quiet.”

That was the moment he stopped living and started surviving, fighting off the sadness with anger. He was alone now, there was no one to protect him, and the false starts of sympathy by strangers and family were immediately rebuffed. It was the only way he could survive.

“Tell me your favorite memory of your brother.” It’s a startling turn of conversation and a question he had not been expecting to be asked.

“What?”

“Your favorite memory of Minho. What was it?”

He’s surprised to find himself chuckling, a smile on his face and tears drying on his cheeks.

“It’s so embarrassing. We were about five and six? It was at a birthday party, I don’t remember whose, at some kids’ restaurant in the city. The kind with indoor slides. I hated them, even then, they’re so loud and lights are flashing everywhere. That’s probably why it was such a big deal when I dropped my straw.” He laughs a bit more at the memory.

“Your straw?”

“Yeah. We were all sitting around this table and it was covered in balloons, cake, ice cream, and birthday presents. I think the kid was opening his gifts when it happened because no one seemed to notice me, not even my mom. But I had dropped my straw on the floor before I could even use it and I didn’t know how to get another one. I actually started crying. Just because the idea of having to ask was so frightening. It was just so scary.

But then suddenly there was this warm, familiar, arm around my shoulders. Minho had come over from where he sat with the older kids. I was at the end of the table and he was at the front. I don’t even know how he saw me through all that mess. He asked me what was wrong and by then tears were streaming down my face and I was hiccupping. Actually hiccupping. I pointed to the straw and he picked it up, tossed it in a bin on his way to get a new one. I didn’t even have to ask. He brought it back and blew the wrapper off in my face before handing it over to me. And I don’t know, it was just the perfect thing for him to do. He didn’t coddle me, exactly, but he helped me out. He got me, I guess, somehow. Even then he just understood. Then he handed it over and let me put it through the plastic lid on my own.

Then he asked if I was OK and patted me on the back and went back to his friends.” His smile falters then, thinking about his life with Minho.

“It was always like that. Minho was always popular, always with a group of friends, and I was alone, hiding from everyone. He understood how to get on in the world and I didn’t. School was rough. I was already younger than my classmates, smaller and softer; more than once I was confused for a girl. I tried so hard to fade into the background but I wasn’t always successful. Especially at home. My parents loved that Minho was so popular, that he was such a good athlete, and hated that I wasn’t as well. I was always being asked, ‘What’s wrong with you?’, ‘What are you scared of?’, ‘Why can’t you be like Minho?’ and I didn’t know.

Everything that came so easy to him was impossible for me. So I just slipped into his shadow, no longer Taemin just “Minho’s brother”. It was safe there. He was the bright star but he was kind. We’d ride our bikes to the park and feed the birds. He showed me this little pavilion that’s hidden behind the pond. We’d sit there and he’d tell me ghost stories.

I think what I miss most about him is having his arm around my shoulders. He always had his arm around my shoulders.” He pauses again. There’s more he needs to say but he’s worried about how Jinki will respond. He wonders if he’ll think Taemin’s as awful a person as Taemin believes himself to be.

“I’ve never been to his grave. Not even for the burial.” He lets the sentence hang between them and counts the seconds of silence as they pass. There’s no reprimand, no outrage. The fingers in his hair continue their ministrations and Jinki’s fingers are still lazily linked with his own.

“Did you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“What do you think?”

“About you not going to his grave?”

“Yeah.”

Jinki sighs and Taemin braces himself.

“We do what we have to do to get through the pain. There are choices we have to make, even if they feel wrong, just so we can make it another day. Not going to your brother’s grave doesn’t make you a bad person, it doesn’t mean you didn’t love your brother. It’s just not something you’re ready to do. We all grieve in our own way.”

Taemin lets out a breath and grips Jinki’s fingers tightly, clutching them to his chest. That’s what he needed to hear, that’s what he hadn’t allowed himself to think.

“I’m still not ready.”

“That’s fine. Maybe you will be one day. Maybe you won’t. But you’ll always love your brother.”  
There’s another kiss pressed to his head and he closes his eyes again, relaxing into Jinki’s embrace.

~

He’s not ready for Jinki to graduate. It actually frightens him a little. It means that when school starts in the fall he won’t be there to eat lunch with Taemin, that they won’t be able to smile at each other in the hall. And in the back of his mind is the little nagging thought that their relationship won’t survive the strain. He doesn’t believe that Jinki would purposefully hurt him, he trusts him, but that doesn’t mean that they couldn’t begin to drift apart. He doesn’t say these things to Jinki, even though he knows he should.

He’s nervous when he arrives at Jinki’s house for his graduation party. The door is open and there’s the sound of voices coming from inside. He wants to knock first but it seems silly to do so, so he pushes the screen door open and walks in. He hangs in the doorway, uncertain of what he should do. The house is packed with people, a lot of them strangers he assumes to be Jinki’s relatives based on their passing resemblance to him.

He hears his voice called from across the room and a woman whose face is familiar begins heading his way, a bright smile on her face. It’s not Taemin’s first time meeting Jinki’s mom. Their paths had crossed a few times, but she was usually working or sleeping when he’d come over and they hadn’t been able to speak much. He’s apprehensive; he’s not sure how much she knows, if she understands that they’re “more than friends”, and he’s not sure she’d approve. Not just of a boyfriend for her only child, but of him.

It’s a surprise and a relief when he finds himself in her embrace. She’s quite a bit shorter than he is and insists on pulling him down and hugging him around the neck. He’s nearly bent in half, trapped in her arms, and he doesn’t know where to put his hands so he gently pats her sides, not quite hugging her back. When she lets go he begins to stand back up, only to find her hands gripping his arms.

“I’m so glad you could make it! Maybe now we’ll have a chance to really talk and get to know each other.” He nods tentatively, something about the way she looks at him familiar and comforting, and he already feels safe.

“Eunsook!”, she cries, waving at a girl who looks to be about Jinki’s age, “Come here and meet Jinki’s boyfriend Taemin!”

~

He talks with Jinki’s cousin for a little bit, awkward conversation that consists of “I’ve heard so much about you” as she steers him towards the back door. She smiles sympathetically as she explains that Jinki has run to the store and will be back soon, and that it’ll be quieter out on the patio. He thanks her and finds a chair in the shade, away from the crowd and the sun.

“Hey babe,” comes Gwiboon’s voice from his right. She’s squinting down at him, one hand across her brow and the other holding a plastic cup. “Mind if I join you?”

He smiles and nods, grateful for a familiar face.

“Where’s Jinki?”

“He ran to the store for something. His cousin said he should be back soon.”

“An awful lot of people in there. How are you doing?”

He chuckles.

“Fine. His cousin put me out here. I think he must have said something to her before he left.”

Gwiboon nods and takes a sip of her drink.

Taemin hesitates. This is the perfect time, place, and person to talk about what’s been on his mind for the last month. He hadn’t wanted to talk to Jinki about it, didn’t want to distract him from his finals and his graduation plans. And he didn’t think he could be unbiased. But Gwiboon would be blunt and honest, she wouldn’t hold back.

“I’m thinking about getting my GED.”

She raises an eyebrow at him as she asks, “Why?”

“I just don’t see the point of finishing high school when I could be done with it right now.”

“And then what?”

“I don’t know. Get a job? Go to the community college? They have a bunch of on-line courses I could enroll in.”

“Have you applied? For either?”

“No, not yet. But I’ve been looking at the classes on the website.”

“Here’s the important question: do you want to do this so that you can quit high school or because you’re afraid of losing Jinki?”

He chokes up at that because that is it, that’s the whole reason.

“He is everything to me.”, he whispers. “I can’t…”, he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “I can’t imagine my life without him.”

He feels her thumb brush against his face, wiping away the tears that threaten to fall.

“He’s not going anywhere. You know that. Just be patient.”

He nods, his eyes still closed.

“But you should get a job. Mr. Song is looking to hire a stock boy. It’s a night shift, no customers, and you could still go to school. It’d get you out of the house.”

She shoves him gently and he laughs, the tension broken. He likes this, just sitting with his friend and talking, laughing. She’s leaving soon, within the next two weeks. As soon as she gets her diploma she’ll be moving across the state and starting her life in a new city. He thinks she’s brave and he knows he’ll miss her.

They’re still laughing and talking on the deck when Jinki gets back. He doesn’t stay long. A quick kiss to Taemin’s lips and a hug with Gwiboon and he’s back inside, visiting with family that travelled from all over just to congratulate him on finishing high school.

~

Their first summer together is an adjustment. The rhythm of school is gone and the sudden freedom is disorienting. They find a new pattern, their own. They don’t have classes anymore, instead they have jobs. Jinki works in the fields and Taemin gets the job at the grocery store. They’re free during the day and it’s nice, they spend a lot of time in Jinki’s house, sleeping and having sex, eating, and watching movies.

On the last day, the weekend before Taemin’s senior year begins, he suddenly knows what he wants to say, what he needs to say, how he wants to express the anxieties he’d felt when Jinki graduated.

They’re sitting in the living room, watching a horror film that they’d seen at least three times already.

“Oh!”, Jinki cried as he stood, pausing the film. I left the sprinkler on. Let me go shut it off real quick.”

Taemin stands and follows him to the back door, stopping halfway there. Just as Jinki’s hand reaches the door knob he speaks.

“Wait for me.” He stands still in the hallway, hands at his side.

Jinki turned back with that bright smile that made Taemin’s chest warm and he had to fight the urge to run to him.

“I’m just going outside. I’ll be right back.”

Taemin blinked and hoped that Jinki would understand what he meant with what he didn’t say.

“I know. Just…wait for me.”

Jinki’s smile faltered and then softened and Taemin felt his eyes burn with tears he wouldn’t let fall, relieved. He watched Jinki step toward him, felt his soft fingers graze his jawline, and closed his eyes as he felt those familiar lips kiss his hair.

“I will. Always.”

~

And he does. It’s not easy, they’re apart more than they are together, though they text often and he frequently sees Jinki’s face on his computer screen. Jinki’s classes and jobs, he works two while he’s at university, take up a lot of his time and Taemin still has school and his job at the market. He needs the money because he plans on moving out of his parent’s home and in with Jinki as soon as he graduates and he doesn’t want to be broke. It’s a bit easier for Jinki, who got an academic scholarship and a couple of grants. But they’re planning a life together and they want to be prepared.

His final year of high school is a blur of anxiety and tests, awkward social interactions, and an absurd amount of nostalgia expressed by classmates who had only either ignored or pitied him for the last three years. It’s a relief when it ends, and when he walks across the stage to accept his diploma he’s not surprised to find his parents absent from the crowd. They left as soon as he graduated and he barely has time to pack his things before they’re gone, scattering to the far corners of the country, leaving him as far behind as they can. It feels personal and in some ways it is. He’s already disappointed them by being the one to survive; he doesn’t have the chance to disappoint them by being gay.

He thinks, though, that it was kind of them to stay together and in town long enough for him to finish school. They could have dragged him away from the only home he’d ever known, from the place where their son died. It wouldn’t have been unreasonable for them to do so and he’s grateful that they didn’t.

Jinki’s mom holds a little celebration for him, just the three of them and Jongin, and he gets a “congratulations babe” text from Gwiboon. It’s nice, it’s so nice, and he knows that he’ll miss them both when he and Jinki leave again. They move into a tiny studio off campus, close enough for Jinki to walk or bus, but far away from the steady thrum of noisy students. They’re crammed in, it’s just big enough for a bed and a table, but neither of them need a lot of space. The important thing is that it’s theirs.

The next three years are incredibly hard. It’s a college town with a lot of turnover which means job openings are constantly coming up. But it’s a weak economy and the constant influx of cheap labor makes them hard to get, and sometimes even hard to keep. They manage to do OK, keeping enough hours between them to keep a roof over their heads and food in the fridge. Taemin is terrible at budgeting but Jinki is really good at it and they manage to break even every month. For two years they’re both taking classes, Jinki on campus and Taemin on-line, getting his AA. It was cheaper, faster, and he has no interest in prolonging his educational career. It’s exhausting, they’re both tired, and their schedules rarely overlap, dates usually consisting of Jinki studying at the table with Taemin dozing in the chair beside him, his hand resting on Jinki’s thigh.

When it finally ends they celebrate by turning their phones off and not leaving the apartment for a week.

~

“How would you feel about moving to the coast?”

They’re lying in bed, Taemin’s head against Jinki’s chest, listening to the thump of his heartbeat, Jinki’s fingers playing with his hair. He fights the sudden ache in his chest because he’s already moved to a new town once, the one they live in now, and it wasn’t so bad. And while he doesn’t want to do it again, he’s not wholly opposed to it either, especially if it’s something Jinki wants to do. Besides, Gwiboon lives over there and it would nice to be able to see her in-person, not be restricted to screens.

“Interested. I’ve been there a few times. It was nice.” That’s a half truth. They used to visit his grandmother every summer, traveling across the state to see her. She lived in a big house in a small town, smaller even than his, with a large garden and a playground she had set up for the grandchildren: he loved it there. It was nice and quiet, the grass always soft under their feet. And she was kind, like Minho. Her hugs were warm, her words were gentle, and she never asked him why he wasn’t like his brother.

And while she understood his sensitivities his aunt, who lived nearby, didn’t. One year, when he was nine and Minho was ten, she took them into the city. Taemin hadn’t wanted to go, but his parents were out shopping with their grandmother and his aunt was adamant that he come.

It was the worst day of Taemin’s life.

There were people everywhere, loud and streaming all over the sidewalks. The stench of fish and seaweed permeated the air making it hard to breathe. It was noisy and unfamiliar and he couldn’t always hear what she was saying; all he wanted was to go back to his grandmother’s house.

Minho had tried to be understanding but he was as enthralled with the sights as his aunt had assumed they both would be. His face lit up when they stopped in at tourist shops on the boardwalk; he laughed in the open market where they watched raw fish being tossed from one monger to another; he grinned with excitement as an enormous ferry pulled into port. It was when they boarded the ferry that Taemin began to cry.

His brother was there with a comforting arm thrown across his shoulder, murmuring soothing words in his ear. But as they pulled out onto the water he was distracted by the waves and by the scenery and his arm slipped away before Taemin was calm to go lean against the railing, pointing at the floating jellyfish.

It took hours for them to finish their trip, his aunt insisting that they eat at a restaurant on the island the ferry took them to. They were also taken to an aquarium where Minho pressed his hands to the glass, eyes wide as he watched the sharks swim by. Taemin hung back, hiding in the shadows, sniffling, watching the trapped fish and wishing they all could go home.

Relief only came when they pulled into the drive and his grandmother came out with a smile. She knelt down as he ran into her arms, tears pouring down his face. Gentle circles were rubbed into his back as his grandmother ignored his aunt’s description of how he had been “petulant all day. I swear, you’d think I’d been torturing him the way he’s been carrying on. At least Minho knows how to behave himself.” And there it was, the reminder that Minho was good and that Taemin, unable to be like Minho, was bad. Frustrated, he began crying harder.

They spent the rest of the afternoon together, just him and his grandmother. She took him to dinner, drive-thru burgers they ate in the car, and for ice cream at a local shop where she knew the owner, and where there was a booth in the back they could hide in. They went for a walk in the tiny park in town, him clinging to her hand and telling her about the dance classes he had started taking. She listened and asked questions, and it was only when he felt ready that they went back home.

It was the best day of Taemin’s life.

It’s that dichotomy of good and bad memories that makes him both anxious and tentatively excited about the prospect of moving there, and not for the first time he wishes his grandmother were still alive.

“I have an interview with a firm over there on Tuesday. It sounds great, amazing benefits, and the only downside would be moving.”

“Then we’ll move,” Taemin replies.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. It could be nice.” And he means it.

The offer comes and Jinki takes it. It’s in a city which makes Taemin nervous, but one of the smaller ones with smaller suburbs and a better commute. They visit a week before they move, familiarizing themselves with the neighborhood, and celebrating Taemin’s birthday with a walk in a nearby park and a night in a hotel. They pack up their few belongings and say good-bye to Jinki’s mom, the one regret Taemin has about leaving the area, and take the back roads to their new life.

Gwiboon is waiting for them in the driveway of the little house they’ve decided to rent, sitting on the pavement in a long skirt and bare feet, her eyes fixed on the cell phone in her hand. Jinki beeps and she looks up with a glare that softens when she realizes it’s them. It’s a happy reunion, Gwiboon throwing her arms around his neck and Taemin holding her tightly by the waist. They stand there long enough for Jinki to make a bad joke about Gwiboon trying to seduce his boyfriend and she groans, letting Taemin go and pulling Jinki into a hug instead.

They spend the weekend buying cheap furniture and new sheets for the king size bed they found on clearance and ordered the week they’d come to visit. It’s christened as soon as Gwiboon leaves and they watch an old DVD on their Craigslist couch in the living room as the sheets run through the washer again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taemin's past leads to his present.

It’s exciting the first day Jinki leaves for work; it’s the first time either of them really feel like adults.  Taemin makes him sandwiches and sends him off with a kiss (and a blow job), but the excitement wanes as he suddenly finds himself alone with nothing to do.  He hasn’t found a job yet, spending his days on what little housework their tiny house affords him, and waiting for Jinki’s return.  Weeks pass and Taemin finds himself unable to leave the apartment on his own, sometimes even making excuses so he won’t have to leave with Jinki.  He’s slipping into the sadness.  Immersed beneath its heavy waves, he’s functioning but not living, his responses are automatic, and his thoughts muddy.

It comes to a head one late afternoon when Gwiboon comes to visit.  He hears her knocking on the door but he can’t move to answer it.  And when his phone chimes with her text, followed by a call, he leaves it where it lies on the table and hopes simultaneously that she will go and that she will use the key they gave her to come inside.  Either way, he remains motionless.

The lock clicks and the door slowly opens, a confused “Taemin?” called into the house.  He watches her from the sofa and, once her eyes adjust to the dark, she comes inside, turning to close the door behind her.  It’s dark because he keeps the curtains closed and the lights off, the apartment silent.  She glances around the darkened room before taking a seat next to him, tucking her feet beneath her legs and twisting her body so that she’s facing him, her elbow propped on the back of the sofa, her head resting in her hand.

“What’s going on?”  He doesn’t know, he has no idea.  It’s the same confusion he had when he was a child and couldn’t understand why he couldn’t be like his brother, how his brother was able to do so much that Taemin couldn’t.  The anxiety he feels when he thinks about stepping out his front door, what he experiences when he actually crosses the threshold, is an exaggerated form of what he’s grown up with, the dull panic evolved into a rush of fear. 

He shakes his head at her, his eyes wide, a slight shrug of his shoulders.  She reaches out and rubs his leg, an action he flinches away from before grasping her hand in his and lacing their fingers.  They sit quietly like that, she watching him with a furrowed brow that he sees out of the corner of his eye as he stares down at their hands.

“Does Jinki know?”  He pauses before he shakes his head again.  He doesn’t talk about it, doesn’t say anything, just smiles with relief when he gets home, and listens to him as he excitedly tells him about his days.  The new job keeps him busy and he spends nearly an hour each day commuting to and from work.  He’s tired and distracted and Taemin has been careful not to give away how bad it’s gotten, how isolated his life has become.  But now Gwiboon knows.  He waits for her to speak again, but she just sits there with him, holding his hand.

He’s not sure how long they sit there before he finally hears her voice.

“Have you thought about seeing a therapist?”  It’s not what he’s expecting, and her voice is so soft that he’s momentarily certain that he’d imagined hearing it.  He tries to stand and pull his hand away but she clutches it tightly in hers, pulling him back down.

“Please don’t get mad.  I’m not saying you’re crazy.  You’re not happy, though, and you deserve to be happy.  Everyone does.”  Despite her request he is mad.  He’s mad that she’s right and he’s angry that he’s this broken.  The last three years had been hard, but they’d been easier than the years before.  Jinki had joined the LGBT group on-campus and he’d gone along, even making a new friend in a student named Minjung.  They kind of reminded him of Minho.  Athletic and popular, they were always greeting their friends and classmates with tight hugs and high-fives; they and Jinki even had their own high-five ritual.   And more than once Taemin had found himself under their protective arm, leaning in to the embrace, talking comfortably in a way that he was able to with so few.   

So when they moved, even after their careful preparations, it was a horrible shock to find himself not only regressing to the anxieties of his childhood, but having those anxieties overwhelm him in ways they never had. 

And it doesn’t matter what she says, what Jinki says, what Minjung says; he knows that he is crazy. 

There’s no other explanation.

He doesn’t answer her, just sits quietly, thinking and being angry.  They stay that way until they hear Jinki pull into the driveway.  The door opens and Jinki’s steps through, smiling with tired eyes.

“Hey!”, he says as he tosses his backpack on the floor, “What are you doing here?”  Taemin tenses up but Gwiboon just smiles.

“Visiting my boyfriend.” 

Jinki laughs and pushes up his sleeves, collapsing in the old recliner they’d found on Craigslist. “Treachery in my own home.  Uncouth.” 

They laugh and chat, Gwiboon’s hand still linked with Taemin’s and he catches Jinki glancing at their entwined fingers more than once.  But he doesn’t question it.

The offer is made for Gwiboon to stay for dinner but she declines it, a little too casually for Taemin’s taste.  She stands to leave, finally letting Taemin’s hand go, and his palm suddenly feels cold and foreign.  He stands too, suddenly caught in her embrace, a whispered “Talk to him” in his ear.  One last glance and a smile before she turns to Jinki who goes to open the door.

They’re alone now and Jinki’s tired smile is on him again.  There’s a brief pause and it’s the perfect opportunity that he lets pass to tell Jinki how things are.  He inhales the words back into his throat as he’s kissed by his boyfriend and asked what they should make for dinner.  He falters, struck by the mundanity of the question when the world feels as though it’s crumbling around him, and he smiles, says that there’s chicken salad in the fridge.

Their relationship has always been good, though never perfect.  The occasional disagreement, debate, and even argument had been a part of their life together.  They were brief, however, reconciled quickly, and minimized by their devotion to each other, their conflicts kept amicable.

Taemin knows Jinki.  He trusts Jinki, he loves him.  But there’s always been a part of him that has never believed that Jinki deserves someone like him, that Jinki deserves someone better.  Someone who can go to the market by themselves; who doesn’t panic and hide when there’s a knock at the door; who can go to parties with him without ending up hiding in the bathroom, frozen in fear.  He tries so hard, just as he did when he was a child, to push himself, to do what he can to keep Jinki happy.  However, it only exacerbates the problem, making him feel like the failure his parents believed him to be, and to give credence to the voice in his head that tells him that Jinki deserves so much better.

Even after so many years, he still hasn’t figured out how to mute that voice, how to tell Jinki what he’s thinking and feeling without the dull panic that it will be what finally pushes him to leave.  Besides, living in shadows is a hard habit to break so he hides in Jinki’s, lets his bright smile and warm laughter guide their relationship, an unfair burden to put on another person.

He listens to Jinki talk about his day while they eat, distracted by his own thoughts.  When Jinki asks him about Gwiboon’s visit, he makes a choice, sliding his foot up the other’s leg with a coy smile.

“I missed you.”  It’s the truth and a lie at the same time because it’s not the whole story, that’s not how his day was.  It was awful, sad, and lonely because he had spent it missing Jinki.  And he’s not telling him that, he’s distracting him with kisses and caresses, a palm to his pants and a glint in his eye.

It takes him three days to work up the courage to actually bring it up, bolstered by Gwiboon’s insistent texts and impromptu visit.

He doesn’t want to seem dramatic, doesn’t want to make it a big deal, and he’s not even sure how he wants to say it.  When Jinki leaves that morning he makes a neutral statement about needing to talk to him about something that evening; just enough information to let him know that he doesn’t need to worry, but that he’ll need his attention when he gets home. 

The afternoon is spent cleaning, putting his anxiety into physical labor, distracting himself with burning muscles and the smell of lemons.  At Gwiboon’s suggestion, he tries writing down what he wants to say, but the words never sound right and he’s tossed away nearly six pieces of paper before he gives up.

It’s the same smile and the same kiss he receives every evening, tired eyes looking at him in the same way they have for the last five years.  It suddenly strikes him that they’ve been together five years and he’s still keeping secrets, and how incredibly selfish that is.  Of course Jinki deserves better, he’s been a terrible boyfriend.

Jinki comes back from the kitchen where he’s grabbed a beer from the fridge and sits down in his recliner, popping the can and taking a sip.  He holds it in his hand as he leans back, his socked feet propped up on the leg stool.

“What did you want to talk about?”, he asks, taking another sip.

“I…”  He stops, his words on the tip of his tongue but fuzzy and he can’t quite reach them.  Or maybe he doesn’t want to.  But he’s so tired.  Of hiding, of being trapped, being unhappy, of keeping secrets.  Jinki’s watching him with a look that is dissolving from humor and curiosity to concern and he rushes out his thoughts before he’s asked any questions.

“I’m not happy.” 

Jinki’s eyebrows raise and now there’s a glint of fear and Taemin immediately realizes his mistake.

“Not with you.  I mean, I’m happy with you.  I love you.  I’m just…not happy.”  He watches Jinki nod, confusion joining the myriad of emotions on his face.  He looks down at his fingers and pushes through his confession.

“I haven’t left the house by myself since we moved here.  I spend every day trapped, unable to leave, just waiting for you to come back to me.  And I can’t do it anymore.  I’m tired of being afraid all the time, of being sad.”

Maybe if he’d been watching Jinki’s face it wouldn’t have been so bad, maybe it wouldn’t have happened at all.  But he’s spent far too many days alone in the apartment, too many days staring out the window unable to move; too many days of listening to the nagging voice in his head telling him that Jinki deserved better.

When Jinki asks, “What are you scared of?”, Taemin breaks, reacting before he can register Jinki’s tone, one imbued only with curiosity and concern, too distracted by the familiarity of the question.

The unbidden refrain of “What’s wrong with you?  What are you scared of?  Why can’t you be like Minho?” begins running through his head like a mantra and he’s suddenly very, very angry.

He stands up, his hands fisted at his side.

“I don’t know!  I don’t fucking know!  I’ve never known!  Do you think I’d be here if I knew?!  Do you think it’s fun spending every day not able to step one foot out of your home and you don’t even know why?!  I don’t know what’s wrong with me!  I don’t know how to fix it!  Fuck!”

He storms out of the room down the hall to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him, and propping it closed with his own body.  His body shakes with a rage that is quickly dissipating and the brief burst of adrenaline fades into a nausea and mild panic.  Outside of sex, he’s never yelled at Jinki before, never used profanity, never slammed a door.  There’s a tentative knock on the door that he wants to answer but doesn’t and he has no response to the silence that follows.  He’s numb now. 

The next half hour is spent on the bathroom floor, his feet resting on the bath mat and his back pressed uncomfortably against the door.   His mind is blank and his chest aches.  And he’s exhausted.  When he finally emerges, he finds Jinki sitting on the floor across from the door, his head in his hands.  He looks up with red eyes and damp eyelashes and Taemin’s heart hurts at the thought that he’s made the man he loves cry.

“I’ve been a terrible boyfriend,” is what hears, words that don’t make sense in Taemin’s head: It had never occurred to him to blame Jinki for any of this.  He falls to his knees in front of him, takes Jinki’s hands in his own.

“No you haven’t.”

“Yes, I have.  I never ask you about your day, Taemin, I’m too busy telling you about mine.  I spend time with my friends without asking you about yours.  I go out even when you don’t want to because I’m so excited I ignore how uncomfortable you are.  I’ve been taking you for granted and you deserve so much better.”

Hearing the tormenting words in his head spoken by the man in front of him breaks his heart.  He kisses Jinki, pulls him into his arms, and rocks him gently, pressing his boyfriend’s head to his chest. 

They talk through the night, Jinki listening quietly as Taemin tells him how frustrated he’s been, how sad and isolated.  At the end, he apologies and, despite Taemin’s allowances for his busyness, he’s adamant that he’s been wrong, that his new job is no excuse for not giving the attention to their relationship, to Taemin, that he should have been.  In the end Taemin lets him have his guilt because it comes with his attention, and because he knows what it’s like to have emotions invalidated and he doesn’t want to do that to Jinki.

They’re exhausted by the time they finally go to bed, emotionally spent.  They’d spent the last few hours researching how to get Taemin into treatment, relying on the Internet and Gwiboon to talk them through it.  It’s well past midnight when they collapse onto the mattress, their heads sore from the struggle to figure out insurance, covered providers, and directions to the nearest clinic.  It’s all very adult and boring, and Taemin’s glad that he chose a Friday to have the conversation because it would be very unfair for Jinki to have to go to work after staying up until three in the morning figuring out how to get his boyfriend medical treatment.

The weekend is spent at home eating leftovers and talking, falling asleep in the middle of the day, and watching movies at night, snuggled in a blanket with Taemin’s head resting in Jinki’s lap.

Jinki wants to call in sick Monday, but Taemin talks him out of it.  He points out that it’s not the best move to start skipping work so early in his employment.  It’s an argument he wins easily, and he’s left with a kiss and a wish of luck before he is alone again.  This time, though, he has a plan and a little bit of hope.

Thursday morning finds him a waiting room with four other people; a woman with a baby sleeping in their car seat, a man old enough to be his grandfather, and Gwiboon.  The receptionist was quite helpful, if a bit eager, and he’s grateful she’s come along.  She had driven them to the clinic, stood by him through the check-in, and was now sitting next to him with her phone in one hand and the other on his thigh.  He passively wonders what they must look like to outsiders, but his heart is racing, and the blood thumping in his ears is a bit too loud to really care.  When they call his name, she stands to go with him, her eyes still on her phone.  Just as they reach the nurse, she pockets it, a bright smile suddenly appearing on her face.

It's all very basic.  He’s poked and prodded, weighed and measured, questioned and abandoned.  The room is small and cold, disturbing pictures of developing fetuses and cancerous lungs hanging on opposing walls.  Gwiboon talks to them as they wait and he nods along, half-listening, bending his fingers rhythmically. 

The quick knock on the door followed by its abrupt opening is startling and he lets out a little yelp that he hopes no one hears.  The man who enters, presumably the doctor, makes no sign that he’s heard.  He introduces himself, putting out a hand that Taemin reluctantly shakes.

“So what brings you in today?”  It’s the same question he’d already answered when the nurse had asked and for a moment Taemin thinks it’s a trick.  Glancing at Gwiboon he sees her subtly roll her eyes and tilt her chin in the doctor’s direction.

“I’ve been…having anxiety.  A lot.  Um…I wanted to talk about a referral?  For counseling?  I don’t really know how this works.”  The doctor nods, typing on a computer that sits on a little swivel stand.

He’s surprised to learn that there’s an actual screening process, and as they begin he suddenly worries that they’ll find that there’s actually nothing wrong with him, that it’s all been in his head.  He’s so nervous he doesn’t see the irony.  As he answers the questions the doctor is reading off of the screen, he notices that he answers “nearly every day” to nearly every question, and he suspects that’s not a good thing.  When they finish, there’s a pause filled with the clacking of keys as the doctor continues to type and Taemin waits, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

“Ok.  It sounds like this has really become a problem for you, just as you said.  I’ll send a referral to Dr. Jung for counseling.  We could also try medication if that’s something you’re interested in.”  He is, though until he was asked he still wasn’t sure, reflexively thinking “pills are for people who are really sick” every time he considered it.  He’s no longer willing to dismiss his symptoms, to minimize his experience, so he nods and his head and smiles tentatively as they discuss options, and when the doctor says his prescription should be ready in the pharmacy in twenty minutes.  

~

He settles easily into the routine of daily medication and weekly therapy, though getting there is often a challenge.  He likes his counselor, who asks him to call him Jihoon, though he’s a bit intimidating: he’s got at least three inches and fifty pounds on Taemin, and it’s all muscle.  But he has a soft voice, a gentle laugh, and he listens.  He challenges Taemin’s thoughts, gives him advice on how to manage his symptoms, to figure out ways to make the world a little less scary.  He gives him perspective.

It helps.  It’s not perfect, but it helps.  And it’s a relief.  There is something wrong with him but there’s nothing wrong with him.  It’s not a character flaw, it’s just his brain over-reacting to stimuli and deciding that the worst outcome is the most likely.  It’s hard to fight but worth it.  The medication helps as well, and slowly his anxiety is softened to a manageable level.  It’s still there, it’ll probably always be there, but it no longer consumes him.  After a while he starts looking for work, eventually finding a job at a library that keeps him busy.  It’s good work and low pay, and he’s glad to have a purpose again.

His life slowly begins to take shape, forming around his relationship with Jinki and spreading out to his friends, his hobbies, and his work.  He’d stopped dancing when Minho died, moving from the stage to sporadic performances when he was alone or with Jongin.  He slowly begins again, teaching himself routines that he sees in performance videos on YouTube, enjoying the stretch of his muscles, the fluidity of motion.  Gwiboon is a frequent presence is in his life, visiting often and occasionally introducing him and Jinki to the boyfriends, girlfriends, or “just friends” that she feels are good enough for them to meet (her words).  His favorite is Ondrew, a rocker with a smile that reminds him of Jinki, and a voice that Taemin could listen to all day.  He’s a frequent feature in Gwiboon’s plays, his command of the stage making him a natural lead, and his performances are always lauded, both by critics and by Taemin.

He and Jinki find their niche, grow a close-knit social circle, go out on dates and in groups.  Not often, and sometimes not even for long, but they do it and it’s wonderful.  Taemin begins to feel at home, again.

~

“So what do you want to do?  Anything at all, just name it.”

Jinki is braced above Taemin, a hand at either side, thumbs brushing against his ribs.  He wiggles his eyebrows in a silly, not-so-subtle attempt at seduction, and it makes Taemin laugh.  He’s only just woken up, the smell of pancakes cooking bringing him up from the depths of sleep.  It’s his 21st birthday and Jinki’s taken the day off, his first in the year since they moved to the city, just to spend it with him.  His laughter at his boyfriend’s antics softens and reaches up, holding Jinki’s face in his hands, just staring at him and smiling.

“Marry me.” 

Jinki’s face crinkles in confusion making Taemin laugh again. “Today?” 

It strikes him then that it’s a possibility, one that Taemin hadn’t actually considered.  They could drive across the state, over the border, get married at a “hitching post”, and by the end of the day he could be “Mr. Lee Jinki”.  He’s not sure why he likes the sound of it so much but he does.

“No,” he replies, “I want to get married on the date we met.”  Now it’s Jinki’s turn to laugh.

“That’s so sappy.” 

Taemin shrugs.  He knows it is.

Jinki’s smile dissipates slowly and Taemin spends a few uncomfortable moments beneath him waiting for a response to his proposal.

“Are you serious?” 

He nods and waits, watching Jinki watch him, watching his face suddenly break into the smile he knows and loves so well.  His lips are caught into a kiss, his hands moving from Jinki’s face up his neck and into his hair, and they laugh into each other’s mouths.  Jinki pulls back just long enough to whisper, “Yeah.  I’ll marry you.”, before he’s kissing Taemin again.

Compiling a guest list is easy; Jinki’s mom and Gwiboon top the list, followed by Jinki’s friends Jonghyun and Daesung, and Taemin’s friends Minjung and Jongin.  They laugh when they realize they’d both added Ondrew’s name.  Taemin has only seen Jongin in person once since he left their hometown, attending his graduation.  He had gone out of state to study dance and, to Taemin’s amusement, he was putting himself through school by working as an exotic dancer.  It was a term Jongin hated (so Taemin used it regularly) because “I’m a fucking stripper, there’s nothing exotic about taking your clothes off.”  He hopes that his friend can make it to the wedding; it would be nice to see him again.

At the last minute he decides to add his parents to the list of invitees, even though he hasn’t spoken to them since he graduated high school.  He’s certain they won’t come, he’d be surprised if they respond at all, but it feels wrong somehow not to invite them.

And as excited as he is about marrying Jinki, and seeing his friends and prospective mother-in-law again, it hits him hard to think about the one person who won’t be there to attend.  Junghee, Gwiboon’s current girlfriend, had hesitantly asked if he’d like to hear about some ideas she’d seen on Pinterest for weddings that had representation of deceased loved ones, usually by placing their photo on an empty chair.  He likes the idea; he knows exactly which photograph he’d like to use.

The wedding is planned for the evening of the 26th of September, a Friday, followed by dinner in the little banquet hall in the basement of the tiny chapel they’ve rented for the occasion.  They would have had it in their home except that it’s barely big enough for the two of them, much less the tiny crowd they’re inviting.  They’ve asked Gwiboon, who got her license as soon as same-sex marriage was legalized in their state, to perform the wedding, a request she was thrilled to accept.  It’s going to be simple and relaxed with them forgoing tuxedos in favor of more casual attire.  Taemin wants to wear what they wore the day they met, but Jinki just laughs and says that he needs to calm down, and besides, he has no idea what they were wearing.  This crushes Taemin’s heart a bit because he knows exactly what they were wearing, down to his own underwear, but he settles for the dress pants and ties Gwiboon and Junghee help them buy, outfits that complement each other without exactly matching.

He was right, neither of his parents came.  His mother, however, RSVP’d with her declination, a hundred-dollar bill, and a “Congratulations” scribbled inside, the card left unsigned.  And while it wasn’t exactly a heart-warming message, it was more than he expected. 

He walks down the aisle alone to the music playing softly in the background, just loud enough to temper the echo of the small hall and its wooden floors.  Jinki waits for him at the front, Gwiboon slightly behind him.  As he nears he looks over at the seat that had been reserved for his brother, the one with his favorite photograph propped up in a black frame.  It was taken just a few months before Minho died. 

He’d been standing on the sidelines watching his brother play what was becoming an increasingly tense game of football, the score growing by tiny increments and consistently tied.  At the very last second, Minho scored the winning touchdown and the stadium burst into cheers, rising to their feet and raising their fists.  He’d watched as the team had run to his brother, grabbing him up in a hug, raising him on their shoulders for a brief moment, and then high-fiving all around.  Suddenly Minho burst from the group and headed straight for Taemin.  He grabbed him up in a big hug, swinging him in the air, the brightest smile on his face.  It was that moment that was captured in the photograph on display.  Minho’s hair is messy and damp, and they’re both grinning.  His arms are around Taemin’s waist and Taemin has one arm around Minho’s neck, the other gripping his arm.  Ordinarily it would be considered odd for a teenager to grab his brother in an embrace after such a victory, but for Minho it was completely normal.  He smiles at the memory and takes his place standing across from Jinki.

Gwiboon begins a little speech about love and marriage, how happy she is to see two of her best friends marry, that moves from warm and lovely to increasingly uncomfortable as she begins a rather bitter diatribe about how marriage is a civil right and not a religious institution.  She catches herself and redirects her focus to the beauty of love and then invites them to take their vows.

Taemin goes first.  He pulls the simple silver ring out of his pocket and holds it in front of Jinki’s waiting finger. 

“I, Taemin, choose you, Jinki, to be my husband.  When I’m with you I feel at home, and in everything that life sends our way, I will stay with you, comfort you, and love you.”  He slips the ring over Jinki’s finger and grins.

It’s Jinki’s turn and he pulls an identical ring out of his own pocket, an impish smile on his face that makes Taemin’s heart flutter.

“I Jinki, espouse you, Taemin, as my spouse.”  There’s a collective groan from their friends and Taemin suspects that Gwiboon is barely controlling the urge to roll her eyes.  “You’re my mate and my mate.  I promise to listen to you, to protect you, to comfort you, and to ride this planet with you as long as life will let us.  And I will choose you always to be my raisin, Taemin.”  Taemin bursts out laughing at the nickname from their first date being woven into their wedding vows, and he’s still chuckling as Jinki slips the ring over his finger.

Their reception continues the theme of simple and casual with cold fried chicken, potato salad, chips, and a pair of obligatory fruit and vegetable trays.  There’s a small cake as well just for the guests as neither Jinki nor Taemin much care for sweets. 

The ten of them just fit into the little room, two long tables pushed together giving them plenty of space for their plates and cutlery.  There’s a quick round of toasts followed by little conversations as their guests get to know each other a little better.  Taemin catches the way Gwiboon is leaning into Minjung as they talk, and it doesn’t go unnoticed the way they’re looking at her either.  He glances over at Junghee in time to see the sadness flit over her face, replaced quickly with a smile and a nod.  Looking back over at Gwiboon, he sees her pointing at Junghee and Minjung nodding as well.  He flushes as he realizes he’s just witnessed a threesome being arranged at his wedding reception.  And based on the way Daesung and Ondrew are looking at each other, he wouldn’t be surprised if they also spent the night together.  Not to mention the way Eunsook has her hand on Jongin’s thigh.  Weddings, he thinks with a sigh. 

At least Jonghyun is behaving himself with Jinki’s mother.   

Their honeymoon is a gift from Jinki’s mom, one that Taemin is both embarrassed and grateful to receive: two nights and two days at a secluded bed and breakfast.  If he hadn’t been able to spend yesterday and today with his best friend he might have postponed it, but he’ll see him again when they visit Jinki’s mother at Christmas. 

They leave their reception late, hugs and kisses all around, before heading to their car.  It’s clean on the outside but filled with silly string on the inside and neither of them have any idea how their friends broke into their car.  They clear out the front seats and leave the back for later, their luggage already in the trunk (they double-checked).  It’s dark and chilly but the moon is bright and as they leave the city the stars begin to sparkle.

Taemin has one hand on Jinki’s thigh, the feeling of the metal band around his finger both foreign and comforting, the other tucked behind his head.  He tells Jinki about Gwiboon, Minjung, and Junghee and his husband laughs, his eyes crinkling.  They agree that something is definitely going to happen between Daesung and Ondrew, but Jinki makes a disgusted face and demands that the speculation stop when they get to Eunsook and Jongin.  Taemin just laughs at that because he knows his friend and his predilection for pretty girls with long hair and he’s pretty sure they’re both getting lucky tonight.

~

Jinki has him pinned against the wall, one leg thrown over his muscular bicep as he fucks him, Taemin’s other foot up on his toes.  He’s gripping the edge of the wall with one hand, grateful for the sharp to brace on.  The other is around Jinki’s neck, holding his head close to Taemin’s shoulder.  The hold on his leg is tight and Jinki’s other arm is braced near Taemin’s rib, almost tickling him with the way his body shudders as Jinki thrusts into him.

It started as an innocent kiss in the bathroom.

Jinki was washing up after their trip, splashing water on his face and brushing his teeth.  Taemin had come up from behind, his shirt and pants already discarded, slipping his arms around his waist.  The kiss Jinki turned to give him was chaste and fresh, the fragrance of mint breathed into Taemin’s mouth.  But chaste wasn’t what Taemin wanted.  He was a married man now, it was his wedding day, and he wanted his husband to fuck him.

Now.

So he began unbuttoning Jinki’s shirt, watching them both in the mirror.  He slid off Jinki’s broad shoulders, kissing the exposed muscled as he pulled the material away, tossing it aside.  His hands slid back around Jinki’s waist, up his chest and back down to the buckle just under his navel.  He let his fingers brush softly through the hair on their way to his belt, unbuckling it slowly and dropping it on the discarded shirt.  Jinki hummed as his husband’s thin fingers began palming him through his dress pants, teasing him.  Taemin kissed Jinki’s neck as he pulled away.  Stepping in front of his husband, Taemin smiled and slid down to his knees, swaying his hips back and forth, making Jinki laugh.

He licked his lips as he unzipped the trousers, leaning back on his heels as he pulled out Jinki’s dick, half-hard and leaking precum.  He kept his eyes on Jinki as he took it in his mouth, moaning as he bobbed back and forth.  Pulling off, he took a couple deep breaths while he stroked the whole length, thumbing the corona.  That was enough for Jinki who pulled him back up so fast he was still dizzy when he found Jinki’s tongue in his mouth. 

Breaking away, Jinki leaned in and whispered, “Are you ready?”

Taemin nodded, quickly answering, “Yes”, amending it to “Yes sir” when Jinki began to frown.

Lifted onto the vanity, he had his boxers off and three of Jinki’s lubed fingers in his ass before he could completely comprehend what was happening, his arms wrapped tight around Jinki’s shoulders.  It’s cold, the laminate beneath him and the glass behind him.  He doesn’t have long to think about it because Jinki is pushing in and he’s suddenly very warm.

The movement from the bathroom to the wall had been swift and deliberate.  Frustrated by the constriction, Jinki had pulled out to kick off his pants, leaving Taemin a sweaty, panting mess on the counter.  He had only a moment to catch his breath before being picked up again.  This time he’s carried out to hallway, his legs wrapped around Jinki’s waist as he mindlessly kisses his neck and shoulders.  He’s dropped to unsteady feet, a leg hooked over Jinki’s arm, and suddenly he’s balancing on his toes as his husband slips back in.

The position is incredible but taxing, and even Jinki’s thighs can’t hold them up forever.  Taemin finds himself face down on the softest bedspread he’s ever felt in his life, the material silky against his hands and knees.  His throat and forehead are gripped in Jinki’s hands.  He’s finding it hard to breathe, much less moan the way the new angle inspires him to.  He settles for letting the room fill with the muted choking sounds he’s able to produce, and listens to the pants of Jinki’s breath in his ear, the rhythmic thump of the bed.  The sound of their damp skin slapping against each other, of Jinki sliding in and out of Taemin’s body, is heady and intoxicating.  The room fills up with their fragrance: sweat and sex.

His breath begins to hitch and he’s coming before he knows it, silent as Jinki’s hand is on his throat, the lack of air making his vision to momentarily go black.  Jinki’s still fucking him, his breath still hot in Taemin’s ear.  There’s a subtle shift in his breath, a sudden utterance of a curse and a supplication, and then he climaxes, filling Taemin up.  He pulls out, leans down, and bites Taemin’s shoulder gently, covering it with a kiss.

~

Their morning is spent in a similar fashion and they end up missing breakfast.  It’s past two when they finally leave their room, hunger overriding their lust and fatigue.

The B & B is in a tourist town, but it’s the end of the season and they find themselves nearly alone as they stroll up and down the main road.  A tiny café catches their eye and they step in from the brisk afternoon.  They’re greeted by an older woman who enthusiastically leads them to a table by the window, leaving them with menus and a promise to return with coffee.

It’s empty, the late hour and the off-season conspiring to provide them with a private meal.

She comes back with a pot and pours it into their waiting cups.

“Have we decided?”

They each order a sandwich, Taemin chooses egg salad and Jinki chooses chicken.  They chat as they wait for their food, simple things.  Married things, Taemin thinks.

The woman brings them their plates, setting them down with ease.  After asking if there’s anything more they need, she pauses, hovering at their table.

“Do you mind if I ask you something?  It’s none of my business and I hope you don’t take offense.”

Taemin shifts in his chair, looking to Jinki to answer.  He’s smiling broadly, though his eyes are guarded.

“Depends on the question I guess.”  She laughs, a bit nervously.

“It’s just…how long have you two been married?”  Taemin lets out a breath he doesn’t realize he was holding and they both laugh.

“About twenty hours”, Jinki replies.  “We’re on our honeymoon.”  Her eyes light up and she clasps her hands together.

“Oh my!  Congratulations!”  It strikes Taemin then that a stranger in a café in a town he’s never visited is more excited about his marriage than his own parents and he takes Jinki’s hand in his as she returns to their table with a piece of pie.

~

They return from their honeymoon refreshed, still smiling when they each return to work on Monday.  Not much changes besides the small but significant additions to their daily attire.  As dull as taxes are, it’s a little bittersweet for Taemin to have to mark “single” on his return when he’s not, and an odd thrill the next year when they get to mark “married”.

Life carries on as it always had, the mundane and the magical interweaving.  It’s simple but it’s theirs and they’re happy.  But the woman in the café nags at Taemin’s mind and he begins to think about family and what that means.  His parents were never his family, he never felt safe with his parent.  They were an extension of his relationship with Minho that bore no meaning on their lives except to try to drive them apart.  They abandoned him the moment his brother was gone, and their presence in his life has only passingly been missed.  To his credit, Minho never allowed their actions to determine his own and while they may have pushed for Taemin to take on the characteristics of Minho in the form of popularity and excellence, what Taemin knew his brother to be was kind and it was that aspect that he sought to emulate.  And it was his failure to mimic the kindness his brother showed, the way that he showed it, that affected him and let the message of his being the “bad” son resonate. 

He has a new family now, has had for a while though he hadn’t realized it.  He’s found siblings in Minjung and Gwiboon, and Jinki’s mother has stepped into the role of maternal figure in his life without hesitation and without stipulation.  He’s healing and they’re helping him do so.  And the way he thinks about Minho changes.  It’s no longer a sadness he chooses not to accept, but a memory of a brother who made him feel safe.  His original family that made the development of his new one possible.  There’s more he needs and the thought begins to form in his mind.  He’s still not ready but he thinks he will be soon, and he waits patiently for the day. 

 

~Two months ago~

“How are things?”

Taemin rocks back and forth in the black leather chair, fiddling with his ring and staring at the floor.  He’s not normally this nervous but he’s planning something new and unfamiliar and it’s taking its toll.  He knows though that even this is improvement: three years ago this would have been unthinkable and even a year ago he would have stayed home, frozen by fear, rather than speak to his therapist about it.

“Good.  They’re good.”  He takes a deep breath and looks up at the man sitting across the table from him, forcing himself to keep eye contact.  “I’m thinking of taking a trip.”  Jihoon smiles gently and Taemin wonders what he’s thinking.

“That sounds interesting.  Where are you planning on going?”

“To visit Minho.”

Jihoon’s smile falters a bit, his eyebrows briefly crinkling in confusion and Taemin has to swallow back the panic that is rising.  He’s not crazy.  The man nods.

“It’s been awhile since you’ve...seen him.”  He refrains from referring to where Taemin will meet Minho and it’s appreciated.

“Yes.”

“How are you getting there?”

“I’m driving.”

“By yourself?”  Taemin nods, watching the man’s face for clues.

“How do you feel about that?”  Taemin takes a deep breath and risks the truth.

“Terrified.”

“What exactly terrifies you?”

Taemin lists off everything he can think of, every thought that has whirled inside his head since he was first struck with the desire to drive across state to his hometown and visit his brother’s grave.  Getting lost, flat tire, forgetting his wallet, forgetting his phone, the sheer number of strangers and unfamiliar variables he will have to navigate without any one to act as a buffer.  When he is finished there is a quiet as the man watches him, studying him and Taemin begins to doubt himself.

“What about seeing Minho?”  It’s Taemin’s turn to look puzzled.

“What do you mean?”

“Are you nervous at all about seeing Minho?”  Taemin can feel himself relax at the thought of seeing his brother and he shakes his head.

“No, not at all.”

“So it’s worth it to you to work through these anxious ‘maybes’.”  It’s not a question, it’s a statement and Taemin nods because it’s true.  Jihoon nods as well, and the rest of the hour is spent brainstorming ways to minimize the stresses of Taemin’s travel.  By the time he leaves Taemin is certain that he can do this and he begins making plans to see Minho again.

 


	4. Chapter 4

~Today~  
  
Taemin wipes his fingers with a napkin, crumples it up, and tosses it in the paper sack by his side. He’s finishing up his lunch, having eaten throughout his one-sided conversation. It’s not over, but as much as he can talk and eat he can’t talk and clean, so he packs up the half-empty containers and finishes off his root beer, the condensation making the glass slippery. His forehead is glistening and he’s uncomfortably warm but he’s still wearing the jacket.  
  
“Usually when I come back there’s snow on the ground. It’s kind of strange to see be sitting out on the grass in the sun.” He looks down at the blanket, fiddling with a loose thread.  
  
“I stopped by the library today,” he says, “The mural is still there, the one with our hand prints. I took a picture of it.” He pats at the phone in his pocket absently but doesn’t pull it out.  
  
“I hated you for a while,” he says abruptly, quietly. “For leaving. Dying. I was so angry. You left me. All alone. You were supposed to…” He stops to blink back tears, his voice beginning to break. A few deep breaths and he starts again.  
  
“I needed you. You were my best friend. You made me feel so safe. I loved you so much and then you were just gone. The truth is that you couldn’t have stayed forever, you would have had to leave eventually. I just…it shouldn’t have been like that.  
  
I survived your death by shutting down, everything reduced to the bare minimum just to get by. And then suddenly I was sad, I was so sad for so long, and nothing mattered.  
  
And then I met someone who made me happy again, who made me smile, who made me feel safe. And that’s why I stayed away, Minho. I didn’t think I could do both; I couldn’t mourn you and be happy.  
  
And after everything, I so wanted to be happy.  
  
And that’s why I came. To tell you that I’m happy. I have a wonderful life. I have friends. I have a job that I like. I have a new family that accepts and loves me as I am. It’s so nice to hear ‘Tell me more about Minho’ instead of ‘Why can’t you be more like Minho?’” He lets the thread go and sits up straight, stretching his back.  
  
“Jinki’s so close with his mom and I envy their relationship. She’s always treats me like I’m her own son and sometimes I forget that she’s not my real mom.”  
  
He laughs at that, running a hand through his hair.  
  
“Of course that would make my relationship with Jinki really awkward. We’re kind of double in-laws now, too. Jongin’s with Jinki’s cousin Eunsook and they have a little girl. Who was born a suspicious nine months after our wedding, almost to the day. They’re happy. And busy and stressed. I think that’s the parenting motto.”  
  
A smile flitters across his lips as he thinks about his little goddaughter Taeyeon. It broadens when he thinks of the havoc the child is wrecking on his best friend.  
  
“It’s my birthday today. I’m picking up Jinki in a little bit and we’re going to meet his mom for brunch tomorrow. She insists on taking us out on our birthdays when we’re in town together. She also gives us little gifts, even though I tell her she doesn’t have to.”  
  
He pulls out the key chain in his jacket pocket and smooths his thumb over the inscription.  
  
“It says ‘Choi Brothers’ on the back. The front is a picture of you, of us. The one from the wedding.” He chuckles. “I don’t even know where she could have gone to have this made.  
  
It’s funny because I’m not a Choi. There was no point in staying a Choi if the only Choi who loved me was gone. After Jinki and I got married, I changed my name to Lee: I’ve been a Lee for almost two years now. But…”, he pauses, looking down at the image himself with his brother. “I liked being your brother.”  
  
His visit is coming to an end. The phone in his pocket is beginning to vibrate letting him know that he needs to pick up Jinki in an hour. It’s perfect timing, there are only a few more things he’d like to say.  
  
He stands and begins folding the blanket up. Pausing, he looks down at the headstone and reaches out, rubs his fingers over the indents and rough granite, feels the texture of his brother’s name raised in the stone.  
  
“I’m sorry that I didn’t come sooner. You were a good brother. I miss you. I miss you every day. And I get it now. I can do both. I can miss you and I can be happy. I don’t have to choose.”  
  
He stands back up, tucking the blanket under one arm and picking up the paper bag with the other. The sleeve of his jacket makes an odd noise at it brushes against the bag and he laughs, looking down at the heavy wool body and leather sleeves. The one with his brother’s name and badges on it.  
  
  
~December 2008~  
  
Taemin hides in his brother’s room while his parents greet the relatives and neighbors, strangers and friends who shuffle through the house to bring their condolences and casseroles. It’s surprisingly noisy for such a somber event, or perhaps Taemin is just sensitive to sounds that aren’t his brother returning home. It’s been a week and he’s still not accustomed to the silence. He stares at the laptop on the desk, at the photographs of athletes and actresses pinned to the walls. He can’t touch them, not yet. He thinks he should hide the laptop from his parents but he knows they will notice it missing and he’s not sure where he’d put it anyway. He decides that the least he could do is delete any files his brother wouldn’t have wanted seen before their parents get a chance to take a look. It’s a relief and a pain to his heart when he’s met with a request for a password, one he doesn’t have and one he knows his parents won’t know either. At least some of Minho’s secrets will stay hidden. He stands up and walks to the closet, the real reason he’s in this empty room alone. There’s something that he wants, something that he is willing to fight to keep, to own. He slips the jacket off of its metal hanger, the soft jingle as it flips back into place oddly pleasing and he’s reminded of the scene from “It’s a Wonderful Life”, the one where angels get their wings. He slips the jacket on, buttoning it up to the top the way Minho always wore it, looking down at the material and avoiding his reflection in the mirror attached to the closet door. He goes to Minho’s bed, perfectly made with the pillow tucked under the navy bedspread that matches the one in Taemin’s room. He lies down, hesitant to mess up his brother’s bedding but desperate to feel him close, to smell what remains while it’s still there to breathe in. It is in this position, lying on the perfectly made bed of their eldest son that Taemin’s parents find him, wrapped in his brother’s jacket, sleeping peacefully for the first time in days.


End file.
